Enemy of the State
by Cairis Rin
Summary: A HBND crossover. A year has passed since Frank Hardy's death, but when Nancy finds reason to believe he's still alive, her pursuit of the truth reveals more than any of them bargained for.
1. Book 1 Bit 1

_Author's Note_: First and formost, anyone who's read my other HB story, "Lost," I _will_ be posting a new chapter this weekend for sure. If not, feel free to send me hate mail (ducks head), I'm sure I'll deserve it. But honestly, the next chapter is almost done, I'm sure I can finally finish it!

This story is an experiment. This shall be the only author's note (hence why it's a bit long) unless something truly dramatic happens. Five days ago I got an idea in my head, then, with the help of my best sounding board, AuroraDannon, it exploded into a story. From start to finish, gritty details and all. Only problem, none of it was written down. Been having issues with actually writing lately. So, that same awsome, most fantastic, sounding board of mine, suggested I try an experiment, that hopefully will increase my writing on all my _other_ stories as well.

Every day until this fic is finished, I shall write _and post_ something. Be it five pages or five paragraphs. I realize short chapters can be rather annoying, so when the story is complete I shall reformat it into _real_ chapters, as well as send it through a beta, and not just my quick editing abilities.

For those of you who wish to follow along with me on this experiment, while the beginning is predominantly Nancy, it does evolve to i everyone /i . I hope the story is as intriguing to you, as it is, to me. :D

x.x.x.x

Nancy Drew hesitated.

When she got up this morning she knew she'd wanted to come today, but now that she was there she wasn't so sure.

Unfortunately, before she could change her mind, Laura Hardy spotted her. Too late now. Breathing in to calm her nerves, Nancy stepped off of the walkway and onto the carefully manicured lawn.

The lot wasn't far in, and she reached the Hardy family soon. Laura smiled, holding her hands out to take Nancy's hands in her's, but the contact was as much to give comfort as to take it. "I'm glad you came," Laura said. From the redness in her eyes, Nancy suspected the woman had been crying that morning.

Her husband, Fenton Hardy, and extremely renown detective, looked much the same, even though he had a smile much like his wife's. Nancy wasn't surprised. She'd cried herself to sleep last night hoping to be out of tears by morning.

Together, the three turned to the Hardy's youngest son, Joe, but he hadn't turned to them, hadn't looked up as Nancy had approached, hadn't moved at all. "Joe," Laura tried, but he didn't respond.

"It's okay," Nancy quickly reassured them. It was obvious the family had been there for a while now, and Joe Hardy had every right to ignore the world right now.

Apparently, Fenton felt much the same, and wisely taking his wife in hand, stated, "Joe can catch up with us later. Nancy, it was good to see you. Don't be a stranger."

"I won't," she promised, but silently wondered how true that was. This last year had been hard, and it was tempting to try and just leave it all behind her.

Nancy watched the couple leave. Then, with another breath, this time to get her courage up, she stepped up next to Joe and looked down at Frank Hardy's grave.

For several minutes neither of them spoke, each of them lost in their own personal struggle. Then, finally, Joe said, "I miss him."

"Me, too," Nancy replied, still lost in the words on the black marble tombstone. It'd been a year, but it still seemed too new, too clean, too fresh in her mind for a year to have passed.

"He shouldn't have died," Joe stated, his voice low and intense. Nancy completely agreed, but she had seen enough in her life to know life wasn't controlled by justice, it was controlled by humans, and humans were completely unpredictable. At least in this case they had found retribution for Frank's death.

"Nan," Joe began, his voice filled with emotion, but when their eyes met he broke away. "It's just not right."

"There's nothing you could have done," she tried to console him, and selfishly, herself at the same time. "You know how stubborn Frank is...was."

Joe was quiet. Nancy bit her lip, ashamed of the slip, but even now it was hard for her to admit he was really gone.

Hands clenched at his side, not angry at her, just angry. Then suddenly he sighed, all the anger draining out of him. "So how have things been going, Nancy?"

"The CIA's more boring than I thought it would be," Nancy truthfully replied, but Joe huffed out a smile as if it were a joke. Life as an adult was nothing like the radical adventures they ended up on in their amateur sleuth days. "What about you?" Nancy asked, hoping to keep the conversation from the gloominess of the day.

An irritated expression creased Joe's face as he looked at her. He shrugged. "It's okay, I guess. We just wrapped up a case involving a crooked accountant at some big corporation. You wouldn't believe how much he'd managed to embezzle out of the company. We're still trying to find all the money trails." His eyes unbidden strayed back to the grave. "It was just the type of case Frank would have loved."

As before, Joe's face hardened in anger. "He should have been there."

At this point, it was pointless to remind Joe that Frank had still been in university when he died, working on his third degree that in all likely hood wasn't going to lead to a life of crime solving. But Nancy knew Frank had still been working with Joe on his cases.

She well knew the pull of a family business.

Then, to her surprise, Joe suddenly grated out, "It was my fault he was there that night." His voice turned husky with emotion. "I told him about the case, didn't want to tackle it on my own. I just never thought he'd go without me." He turned to her, tears brimming at the edges of his eyes as his anger turned to grief. "If he found out where the lab was, why didn't he tell me?" Joe pleaded with her, grasping for a reason that could sooth his grieving mind. "I would have gone with him, he knew that. It was my case, he should have called me!"

Nancy felt like crying, but held the tears back. Squeezing his hand, she quietly replied, "And if he had, you've have died, too."

"You don't know that," but the conviction wasn't there.

Nancy pulled him to her, embracing him tightly in a hug. "Oh Joe," she softly murmured, feeling the hurt he felt almost as strongly. "Lady Luck can't be with us all the time."

He didn't say anything, but she felt him shake with suppressed tears. Nancy just hugged him all that much tighter. Joe had always been like a younger brother to her, or a cousin. She was naturally protective of him, and with Frank gone, she had to be doubly so.

The rest of the morning dragged on and sped up in alternating bursts. They had finally left the graveyard, collecting their thoughts and memories over a couple cups of coffee, but while Joe had the day off work, Nancy didn't, and all too soon she had to excuse herself. At least they were talking again. Nancy made a silent goal to herself to not make the anniversary of Frank's death the only reason for them to get together.

The drive back to New York was a long one. Nancy dreaded work. She wasn't lying when she said it was more boring than she thought it would be. There was more paper work involved than believable, and likely the cause of a good chunk of the people's tax money.

If she ever got into the field, that might change, but she was only a couple years out of school, and still way low on the totem pole. In truth, most CIA agents were trained for the field, but very few actually worked there. Most, like her, spent a large part of their time researching.

tbc…


	2. Book 1 Bit 2

It was shortly after 2 by the time she passed through security and pulled into the underground parking lot. A quick check in the mirror showed that most of the evidence of her earlier emotions was gone. If the day was like most of the rest, she could submerge herself in her work at her cubicle, no one the wiser. Their building handled a rather decent amount of the legwork and research for the rest of the Company. Her department in particular focused on the decimation and distribution of information. Filtering what came out of the think tanks and getting it to the right people. As her boss would say, it's all about assessments, and everyone had their specialty. Nancy felt like they must think hers was filing.

Pinning her ID to the lapels of her blouse, Nancy pushed her red hair back out of her face, and then pulled some of it forward again. The more shadows, the less likely anyone would notice how tired she looked.

"Hey, Nancy, you're late," Brent stated as she approached her desk. He hadn't turned around, hadn't seen her coming up the aisle, and hadn't _had_ to look up. Half the department joked that Brent had eyes in the back of his head. The man occupied the cubicle behind hers, their chairs practically back to back. He was a genius, anyone who knew him knew that, but he didn't get along well with others, which was why he'd been transferred out of the local think tank group downstairs to up here.

And since she was the rookie of the group, even after a couple years now, it fell to her to work next to him. Nancy pursed her lips, remarking, "I had an earlier appointment."

He didn't turn and look at her, but he did glance up at the calendar hanging above his terminal. "Oh." Then he went back to his work without another word.

Nancy sighed and sat down. No, this job wasn't exciting at all. Then she saw something that thrilled her even less. "What's this?" She asked, holding up the plane ticket to Kansas.

At last Brent turned around, if just to see what she was referring too. "Someone has to go talk to Kevin Steiner about Turner."

"But this plane leaves in under two hours!" She objected, feeling very much like the world was against her today.

"Then I guess you better get going," someone joked.

Nancy looked up at another of her coworkers, Isaac, as he gave her a lopsided smile and leaned nonchalantly against the side of her cubicle. He was always joking around about something, and normally, Nancy appreciated Isaac's sunny disposition, especially when it counter balanced Brent's, but not today. Groaning, Nancy questioned, "Does anyone have a question list and background sheet made up already?"

"The boss has the file and is waiting for you," Isaac told her, his smile slipping as he picked up on her mood.

"Okay," Nancy said, trying to collect herself. She grabbed the ticket and got up to leave, but as she moved passed Isaac, the man caught her arm, stopping her.

Intense dark eyes searched her face as he worriedly questioned, "Nancy, what's wrong?"

This was the last thing she needed. "It's nothing. I'm fine." She pulled free and left, feeling every bit of his gaze as his eyes followed after her.

The room was large, the middle broken up by cubicles with offices and a couple conference rooms lining the edges. They shared this part of the building with three other departments, which made it feel a bit crowded at times, but nowhere near the chaos of the rooms below. As much as she worked there, Nancy hadn't seen much more than these two floors. She knew from the directory that there was a single lab above her, sharing the floor with the tech group, and an entire floor seemed dedicated to administration, but she doubted that was really the case. Even in the CIA certain things were kept secret. But in retrospect, their little building was nothing compared to Langley. She'd been there once, back at the beginning.

Nancy approached the office of her boss with some hesitation. Collin Fairchild had his good days and his bad days. With the way things were going, Nancy felt she could accurately guess which day this would end up being.

His door was already open but she politely knocked anyway. Fairchild looked up and grunted, "I expected you back earlier than this, Drew."

"Sorry, sir."

But he shook his head, irritation and disappointment flirting across his face as he motioned her in. "If you had told me more about _why_ you wanted today off I might have given you more than just the morning."

Nancy bristled at the comment, but she kept her mouth firmly shut. She'd told him it was a family matter and that was all. She hadn't wanted the details nosed around, and she certainly hadn't wanted to brake down in her boss's office, which is what probably what would have happened.

When she didn't say anything, his eyes searched her face, reading her like an open book no doubt. But that was something Fairchild did best. Then, grunting again, he picked up a file and handed it to her, seeming to put the first situation aside as he gruffly stated, "You won't have much time to catch your flight, and I expect you back in the morning, with your report done and on my desk."

"Yes, sir." She got up to leave, glad the conversation had been kept short, only to be called back.

"Drew. Nancy." He held her eyes with both the command of his stature and the sympathy of a concerned mentor. "Grieving for a friend is nothing to be ashamed of."

"Yes, sir," she replied, not sure she could say anything else without getting emotional. When he didn't say anything more, she left, grateful to be going, and just as angry about having to go with so short notice. She completely bypassed her desk, sure that Isaac was waiting to ambush her with more probing questions. She didn't have time to grab a set of clothes from her apartment, or do anything else for that matter. She'd have to go straight there. And as soon as the interview was over, come straight back.

Nancy sighed. Yes, the CIA was _nothing_ like she thought it would be.


	3. Book 1 Bit 3

It had been good to see Nancy again, Joe thought to himself as he meandered around his apartment. A couple old friends had stopped by, and several more had called, but no one else had come to Frank's grave that morning. Somehow, that seemed fitting. Even though they had never done more than 'keep in touch,' Joe had always thought of Nancy as family. Perhaps it was because she had as much of a knack of stumbling over criminals as they did. Joe wasn't sure, but while he'd share a few of his 'adventures' with his friends, none of them seem to understand why it kept happening. And why Frank and him had always dived in headfirst. Nancy understood. In many respects, she was just like them, an unwilling victim to the pull of a mystery.

Then there had been that slight tension between Nancy and Frank that had always made Joe wonder. If they had lived closer to each other, maybe things would have been different. Or maybe not. Wondering about the 'ifs' brought too many to the forefront of his thoughts. What 'if' someone else had been there as back up, what 'if' the lab hadn't been there, what 'if' Joe had never called Frank for help.

It was too much to contemplate. He just couldn't handle wondering about the 'what ifs' anymore.

Resolutely, Joe dug through his closet and pulled out a filing box he kept stashed in the back. Carrying it out into the living room, he set it down on the floor and settled down onto the futon.

He leaned down to open the lid, but hesitated, letting his hand just rest on the box for a minute. "I'm going to need some help," he finally admitted to himself. Leaving the box where it sat, Joe got up and dug out a beer from the fridge. Popping the cap off, Joe took a long swig before returning to the futon.

He doubted his mother would approve of the kind of 'help' he was seeking, but some days it was the only thing that would do. Feeling that little bit more relaxed, Joe finally pulled the lid off the box and looked inside. It was full of memorabilia, of Frank. They were his things, and they were things Joe hadn't looked at since the funeral.

Taking another swallow of beer, Joe reached in and pulled out the top stack of papers. Most of it was comprised of things Frank had had in his desk at school. When he had been killed, the police and everyone else, had gone through them as 'part of the investigation,' but they were nothing more than a collection of Frank's various homework pieces. Including a small group of reports dating back to their high school days. Joe had no idea why Frank had hung onto them, let alone taken them to University with him, but there was always that small bit of Frank Joe had never understood.

Like when did Frank take up scrap booking? Joe picked up the rather thick binder and carefully flipped through it. There was at least one item from every case they had ever worked. Usually nothing more than a business card of the company involved, or a menu or postcard from the place it had gone down in. In some cases, Frank had added an actual newspaper clipping depicting the crime, but rarely was it the one printed _after_ the case was solved. Joe might not have known what the scrapbook was about if he hadn't been so involved in the cases themselves. What was more amazing to Joe was that Frank had arranged it all in chronological order. Looking at it now, Joe felt overwhelmed. Had they really done all that?

He reached for his beer again, and was surprised to find his hand shaking at he raised the bottle to his lips. Their life had truly been spectacular. Nancy's earlier words ghosted across his mind. Lady Luck couldn't be with them all the time.

"She sure isn't here now," he remarked out loud. They were on their own. _He_ was on his own.

Joe reached back into the box and pushing aside the medals and awards Frank had accumulated in his life, pulled out a collection of photos. A few were still in their frames. These, too, had been found in his desk. Joe flipped through the envelopes, recognizing only half the people. The others he knew were from Frank's school. His classmates. They looked happy. One batch of photos was at a party, and Joe smirked, amused to find one of his brother downing a shot without hands. Something Frank rarely did. Joe wished he'd been there.

He flipped through every photo, trying to imagine each moment as he looked at them. He hadn't been a big part of Frank's university life. It was a natural part of growing up, his mother had told him. He had understood that before, but now, Joe felt cheated.

Once he'd exhausted the packed photos, Joe turned to the few still in their frames. He had copies of a couple of them up on his own walls. They were the standard family pictures done at the professional photographers. Another one was a photo of their old high school group, and the last, a picture of just him and Frank. They were leaning over the edge of a boat, laughing into the waves. Joe remembered the day with fondness. They were on the ferry, taking a trip across the bay to go camping. It was right before Joe's senior year of high school, back when the group was still together. Everyone had gone, not one had had to call off. It was the last 'big bash' they had had before the 'Senior' half of the group had left for their various Collages and Universities.

What felt strange then, and still felt strange now, was that no one had gone to the same school.

Smiling sadly, Joe pulled the picture out of the frame, intending to add it to his own collection of photos. As a natural habit, he flipped it over to see the marking in the top corner. Frank's neat handwriting adorned all the photos in the box, each one labeling dates, places, and people. There was another mark on this one, in the bottom corner, written in different colored ink, but still clearly in Frank's handwriting. It read a single word in quotation marks. "Sputnik."

Joe frowned. He had no recollection of any joke or reference to the Russian satellite that might have been mentioned that weekend, or any other time for that matter. Frank also didn't do things without a reason.

Sitting back and musing about what it might mean, Joe slowly finished off his beer. His mind was in too much of a mess for him to think straight, he realized. Perhaps something would come to him later. It could be Frank had written the word there by mistake, needing to write a note to himself for something and only having the picture handy, but Joe doubted that was the case. He didn't know what 'Sputnik' was supposed to mean, if anything, past the historical reference, but he knew his brother well enough to know it had meant _something_.

His phone pulled him away from his thoughts, and Joe tiredly pulled out his cell. "This is Joe."

"Hey, buddy." It was Geoff Kirtland, Joe's partner at the precinct. "The boys and I were thinking you've had enough time on your own."

Joe couldn't help but smile. He hadn't liked Geoff at first. The man was gruff, and used to call him 'kid' even though he's only Joe's senior by three years. But after Frank's death, things had changed. Joe liked to think they would have changed anyway. Geoff really wasn't a bad guy after all, and Joe really _wasn't_ a kid. Still…

"What makes you think I'm here alone?"

"Cause that's what you do," Geoff stated. "You may show it big to everyone else, but I know you keep it in when it gets personal. Now come on, come get plastered with the rest of us! Grief is best served with an unhealthy dose of alcohol among friends."

Joe thought about it for a second, but with a sigh, he put the picture aside and got up, searching for his car keys. "Sure, why not."

Perhaps Geoff was right. Getting drunk with friends _could_ be better than doing it alone.


	4. Book 1 Bit 4

_Author's Note_: Had to skip yesterday due to a broken car. :\ And tomorrow, don't expect a chapter, because it's girl's night, and while all sorts of sets of brothers crop up in our conversation, I'm not home.

Also, I'd just like to do a shameless plug for my closest friend, AuroraDannon, who's doing this experiment with me and has her own Hardy Boy story going, called, 'Hideaway.' You should all check it out, cause it's so cool! That said, I'd love to hear of anyone else attempting this writing experiment. We could start a support club! Bwahaha! Okay, I'm really tired.

Thanks for the reviews! It gets better as we get into it. Trust me, this is _not_ the simple story plot you all think it is. Bwahahaha! Seriously now, I'm going to bed.

x.x.x.x.x

"So, you're here kinda late," The Penitentiary Guard commented. He was Nancy's escort, one Officer Barnes. He was rather tall, and had a tendency to lean over her shoulder, watching as Nancy filled out the necessary forms.

Trying hard not to show her annoyance, Nancy dryly remarked, "The CIA doesn't sleep."

"Guess not." Someone from her department had called ahead to let them know she was coming, but no one seemed pleased at the timing. Prisons were generally run under very strict rules, and this was _far_ from visiting hours.

She finished the last bit of paperwork and handed it, along with her gun, over the desk. The officer there took it and handing her an ID, asked, "Will this take long?" Like the outside gate, they'd had to open this area of the security check just to get her in.

Trying to pacify them, Nancy smiled and replied, "I don't think so." He nodded and turned away to put her gun into a special lockbox.

"Come on," Barnes said, half starting down the hall. "It's a bit of a walk. Your guy's on the other side of the compound. He's on restricted contact right now."

"Why?" She couldn't help but ask. Nothing in the file suggested Kevin Steiner was a danger to himself, let alone anyone else. He'd been incarcerated for murder, conspiracy to murder, and whatever else the law could throw at him. But the truth was, Steiner was a thief, a thief who got mixed up in something seriously bad, and had ended up on the wrong end of the stick when things went down.

Barnes almost smirked, somehow finding her question humorous. "He keeps starting fights with the other inmates." She must have had a slightly perplexed look on her face, because he shrugged, adding, "Prison changes a man, ma'am."

"Just call me Nancy," She murmured, still deep in her thoughts. She was going to have to change her tactics if she was going to get any real information from the guy. On the plane she had read and memorized everything she thought she'd need. She'd brought no papers in with her, nor were any allowed, especially for a midnight visit, but now she wished she could look at the file again.

Blinking hard, Nancy tried to pull her thoughts together. The CIA may never sleep, but its agents did…sometimes. Apparently not tonight. Whatever she gleamed, if it was good enough, would be phoned in over a secure line before she left, and then she had to hop a flight back. Plus her boss wanted the report done first thing in the morning. Ya, the more she thought about it, the more Nancy was sure she wasn't going to get any sleep. This day sucked!

"Here we are," Barnes stated, interrupting Nancy's thoughts. She jerked, realizing they had been walking for five minutes already. She really _was_ tired. Barnes stayed with her, using his radio to get them through the next set of security checks. They went down a flight of stairs and through another two sets of doors, each unable to open till the other set was closed.

At last, they stepped into the correct cellblock and Nancy was surprised to find it so short. When one thinks of prisons, they think of row upon row of cells stretching up four stories. This was a single long hallway with six doors made of bars that interrupted the concrete walls in an alternating pattern so no cell directly faced another.

"Normally we would pull the prisoner out to a room for you, but…"

"This is fine," Nancy automatically finished. The hallway was wide enough she could walk down it without getting even slightly close to any of the cells. At the sound of their voices, a face appeared behind the closest set of bars. The lights were dim for the evening, but Barnes spoke into his radio and they came up to full intensity again.

Nancy could see the face clearly now. It wasn't Steiner, but someone else. The inmate narrowed his eyes at her, but she ignored him, and turning to Barnes, said. "I just need to ask him a few questions, but I'd rather do it alone, if you wouldn't mind?"

Barnes pursed his lips, unsure, but finally nodded. "I can't leave, but I can wait here. Just stay in the middle of the hall, and under _no circumstances_ are you to approach anyone's cell."

She smiled her gratitude even as he grunted his displeasure. "He's in the last cell on the left," Barnes told her, nodding his head in the general direction.

Nancy just smiled again, and turning, walked boldly down the hall. She caught movement out of the corner of her eye as the inmates stirred with curiosity. Then someone whistled, catcalling, and Barnes barked out, "Go back to bed, Duval!"

"Come on, Boss! I haven't seen a chick in months! Can't a guy appreciate the view?"

"You won't see one for _years_ if you don't get back to your bed! That goes for all of you!"

Nancy didn't look around to see if any of the inmates were actually responding to Barnes' orders, but nothing followed other than a low murmur. With a few more steps, Nancy reached the last cell on the left and turned to look in. Steiner was stretched out on his cot, his head up on the metal headrest as if it were a pillow. He wasn't asleep, and as soon as he realized she was there for him, he was on his feet and at the edge of his cell.

"Who're you?"

Nancy had no intention of actually saying who she was. Not here, and certainly not like this. "I work for the CIA. I want to ask you a few questions."

He frowned, thick black bangs falling over his eyes. The rest was tied back in a ponytail long enough to reach his waist. "You here to make me a deal?" He was clearly surprised, and more than a little disappointed when she said, "No."

"I just want to ask you some questions," she reiterated, keeping her voice low enough not to carry down the hall.

"And you think I'll talk to you? What, you gonna tell me the nation's at risk, and it's my duty to help you?" He mocked, still obviously obsessing over the fact that she wasn't there to broker a deal. From the look on his face, Nancy guessed he was trying to figure out the best way to get something out of this.

So Nancy shrugged, replying candidly, "Some take that approach."

"But not you."

"But not I."

Then she waited, and watched as his curiosity finally got the better of him. "So what do you want to know?"

"Have you ever met a man named Ian Turner?"

The look on his face read 'yes,' but the words that came out of his mouth said, "Never heard of the guy."

It was the look that decided Nancy on which way she would interrogate him. "Despite of your statement at the time of your arrest, or any statement made thereafter to the contrary, we _know_ Ian was involved in the incident in San Antonio."

"Ya, how?" Steiner challenged.

At this, the crucial part of her bluff, Nancy smirked. "Who do you think tipped the FBI off?"

The reaction was immediate, and exactly as she had hoped. Steiner let out a string of expletives that could curdle almost anyone's mind. It was also all the confirmation Nancy needed, and she had a hard not letting herself smile in response for fear of giving her bluff away.

When it seemed she might loose Steiner's attention, Nancy demanded, "Where is he, Kevin?"

"How should I know? I've been in this hellhole for the last two years!" Steiner retorted, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. His eyebrows sank down over his eyes as he withdrew into himself.

"You know him. You know his habits," Nancy pushed, but he wasn't saying anything now. To her, he seemed to be warring inside with his anger and a loyalty that didn't make much sense to Nancy, but then, loyalty among criminals was generally more about 'who owed who what favor,' than any true devotion.

To tip the scale in her favor, she pulled her trump card, a little early perhaps, but this job was full of gambles and many mistakes, as she had discovered the hard way. "If you can give us something, anything, that gives us a hit on Turner's location, we'll see what we can do about working out a deal, but it has to be solid."

He eyed her, staying as silent as before. Then, when she thought her gamble had failed, he suddenly said, "Coffee."

"What?"

"Ian likes a particular coffee. One that has to be imported from Ethiopia. Peaberry Mocha, or something like that."

Nancy filed that bit of information away, wondering if it was good enough to call in, or if she should just wait till she got back in the morning. "Thank you, Kevin," Nancy told him, turning to walk away, but he called her back.

"Hey! If you catch that bastard, or whatever the hell you plan to do to him. Let him know I'm not playing his game nomore."

"Sure," Nancy said, although she doubted she'd have anything to do with Turner's arrest, or 'whatever the hell they planned to do to him,' even if this tip panned out. She turned to go and suddenly stopped.

The inmate closest to Steiner but across the hall had been leaning up again his wall by the bars in such a way that he could watch the whole event. His tall form was hunched slightly and he had his arms crossed against his chest. He straightened a little when their eyes met, but then he shrunk down again, his soft brown hair long enough to hang around his face, creating shadows across his eyes. Even so, they were eyes Nancy could hardly forget.

She automatically took a step towards the cell before she caught herself. "Frank?" she whispered. The inmate's head sunk lower, and he shied away from the bars.

Nancy took another step closer but he moved further back, and a soft voice nervously breathed out, "I don't know you, lady."

It was too low to tell, but…

"Ma'am!" Barnes called out to her from the other end of the hall. "If you're done…?" He trailed off suggestively.

Distracted, Nancy had nodded impatiently to Barnes, but when she looked back, the inmate that had looked so much like her dead friend was on his bed, hunched with his back to her and hands clasped over his head. She shook her head, trying to clear the confusion from her mind. This man wasn't him, _couldn't_ have been him. Frank was gone. She really needed to get some sleep.

But try as she might, her mind wouldn't let it go. So, when she caught up with Barnes, she questioned, trying to sound as innocently curious as possible. "Who's in that cell across from Steiner?"

He gave her a strange look, but asked, "Does it have anything to do with your case?"

She wasn't sure what would get her more sway, so she settled on, "Maybe."

He sighed. "Well, I suppose I can call the Executive Assistant to approve the documents-"

"No," Nancy interrupted, not wanting an angry official on her hands, not to mention an angry boss, as she was more than certain it would get back to him. "It can wait."

"Here's what I can tell you," Barnes offered. "He came to us only a few months ago. Before that he was on Death Row at Florence. Heard there's some legality tie-ups with the appeal."

"Thank you," Nancy said, trying to hide her disappointment. That man, _definitely_, could not have been Frank.


	5. Book 1 Bit 5

This little bit is dedicated to my friend, JC, who died on Friday. He never read a Hardy Boys book in his life, but he did put up with me rambling about story ideas from time to time without complaint. I miss him.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Nancy let out a huge yawn as she stepped off the elevator. She was two hours early for work, and now officially thirteen hours late going home. The trip back from Kansas had been treacherous. She'd practically begged the flight attendants for three times the amount of in-flight drinks, trying to keep herself caffeinated. Then almost threw the perpetually offered pillow across the plane. Did she not look busy?

Hoping no one was there yet, Nancy made her way to her desk, sitting down and getting started as quickly as she could. She'd written everything out on the plane, the whole time wishing she had run home for her laptop beforehand, but now had to have it typed up before she could turn it in.

Once it was complete, she read it over, hoping her mind was awake enough to catch the grammar mistakes, but not really caring if it wasn't. "Good," she stated out loud, as satisfied as she could be, and sent the file off to be printed. Only an hour left before everyone showed up.

If she was lucky, she could get away with leaving this on Fairchild's desk and run home for a quick shower. He'd forgive her for being late if the report was already turned in.

Spotting a couple of people, Nancy took the long way around to the printer. The small room was empty and hers was the only report printed, which made that quick and easy. Next, she just had to leave it on her boss's desk, and hopefully slip out again, no one the wiser.

She ran into a small problem when she realized Fairchild's door was locked. Her tired mind considered the idea of picking the lock, and with a shake of her head, she silently chastised herself. That was a sure way to get fired, _especially_ here. Pursing her lips, she wondered if there was enough room to slip the file under the door, still hoping to get out of there before he came in.

"Drew."

Her hope deflated like a punctured balloon. Turning around, Nancy forced a smile onto her face. "Sir, I was just dropping this off for you."

His eyes narrowed and she wondered if her voice had sounded too sweet. She was too tired to tell. She stepped aside as he unlocked his door. "Drew, come in for a minute."

Doing as she was told, Nancy waited just inside the office as he put his suitcase down and casually took off his jacket. When _he_ seemed ready to start the day, she tried to hand him the file, but he just waved her to put it on his desk and then motioned for her to take a seat. "Drew. I'm concerned."

_What?_ Nancy wasn't sure if she had said it out loud, but her boss went on anyway. "I've noticed lately that you've become listless. Less enthused about what we do here."

He paused, but Nancy had no idea what to say, so she said nothing. "I'm not saying you aren't a good agent," he said then, pushing that point. "In fact, you were sent to my department specifically because of your high attention to detail. And while you can't profile at a distance very well, when you're face to face with them, you get results."

Now Nancy felt confused, unsure if he was chastising her or giving her a compliment. "Sir?"

He made a face, and then bluntly stated, "Don't think I haven't noticed that you're bored, Nancy."

She flushed, wishing she wasn't so tired so she could know how to react to this 'talk.'

"Not all jobs are 'high risk.'"

"I know that, sir," she objected, flushing again.

He was quiet for a minute, and then looking at her critically, suddenly stated, "It's Friday. Take the day off. I don't want to see you again till Monday."

Nancy didn't move. She was too confused to move. A moment later she realized he had meant it, and standing, hesitantly murmured, "Thank you, sir," before leaving.

She couldn't think. She _had_ to think, but not here. Thankfully, she passed no one on her way out, once again deciding to forgo going by her cubicle, just in case.

An hour later Nancy was relaxing in her bathtub, still wondering what it was her boss was trying to get at. _I'm bored. Of course I'm bored! It not a very challenging job._ At least it wasn't to Nancy. She thought back to when it first started. She'd been excited just to be part of the CIA. She knew how meaningful their work was, knew the things they did made a difference, and that had been enough for her. When had that changed?

"So what if I'm bored with my job," Nancy grumbled to herself, sinking lower into the soapy suds. "It's not _affecting_ my job." And one day she planned to get involved in actual field ops. She just had to prove to them she could do any job they wanted her to. Nancy sighed, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. Honestly, she wasn't really sure where her mind was going with those thoughts. She really didn't _know_ what she wanted anymore.

His brown eyes stared at her. Intense, sharp eyes that yet, had a charitable softness that beseeched you to open up to him.

Nancy's eyes opened with a jerk. She sucked in a breath of shock as she pulled herself out of her daze. It was suddenly even harder to think now. Looking at her pruning hands, she realized she must have dozed off, and forcing herself to get out of the bath, prepared for bed.

Sleep. She just needed _sleep_.

She was out the moment her head hit the pillow, but it wouldn't be a very peaceful sleep.

x.x.x.x.x

_Author's Note_: I'm back to posting each day, but till my life is back to normal, as normal as it gets at any rate, they might be very _small_ bits.


	6. Book 1 Bit 6

I had time to write:D It's late, and I really like this bit. :D

x.x.x.x.x

He sat in his cell staring at what passed as a window. It wasn't much, just a small square in the concrete wall set higher than he could reach. Their cells were actually lower than the ground so the little window was really only a foot high on the other side. A ditch ran in front of it to catch the rain, but that didn't always work. And unfortunately, the weather was getting hotter, which meant, so were their cells. Modern modification had added internal vents through the hall that pushed the air through his cell and supposedly out the small window, but it didn't seem to make much difference. The cell was the perfect oven, and he suspected it'd be hot no matter what they did. Leavenworth was called the 'Hot Box' for a reason. Giving up on trying to get comfortable, he rolled over onto his side, curling his arm to use it as a pillow.

_Nancy._

He closed his eyes, trying to block the thought out, but ended up plagued by the image of the night before, instead. He had heard her talking to Steiner, thinking first that he'd fallen asleep. It wouldn't have been the first time familiar sights and sounds had confused him during the night hours.

Curiosity had pulled him out of his bed, part of him still convince he'd been in a dream, but then there she was. He could only see her from the back, but add her red hair to the familiar voice, and even the stance, full of confidence…it _had_ to have been her.

Groaning, he rolled over again. It was a mistake. The moment he _knew_ it was her he should have stepped back, should have receded…he should have hidden, _anything_ to keep her from seeing him. He lay still for a moment, letting both the worry and the heat wash over him. It was too late now.

He wasn't one to believe in coincidence, but he didn't believe in fate, either. There _had_ to be a way out of this.

"Hey, Leon!"

Looking up, he saw Officer Barnes and the usual three-guard escort at his bars.

"It's time to go outside," Barnes said, making a motion with his head.

He got up a little less eagerly than normal, his thoughts still heavy with his current problem. Since transferring to Leavenworth, he'd been kept on the no contact block. He was only given a half-hour outside everyday, so the time outside, while still quarantined from the rest of the inmates, was generally his high point. Today, he wished he could just stay hidden, instead.

"Come on, Leon," Barnes stated, looking both impatient and a little perplexed. Of all the guards, Barnes was the only one that spoke to him, and it wasn't much.

He followed the guards down the hall and through the security checks to get out into the yard, a special section, just for their cellblock. Then, it was just him, locked up in a slightly bigger cage than before. But it was _outside_, and the sun was out, and while it was still hot, there was a small breeze and it wasn't nearly as suffocating as his cell often felt.

Pushing his troubled thoughts aside, he walked the perimeter of the fence, taking the opportunity to stretch his legs. One thing about prison, there wasn't much to do, so it was easy to either beef up, or get really skinny. He had tried really hard to keep it at the happy medium, but he was probably still on the too skinny side.

Then, closing his eyes, he leaned his head back and just let himself enjoy the feel of the sun on his face.

All too soon, Barnes was calling to him again. It was time to go back in. With a sigh, he walked back to the waiting guards.

Barnes looked at him, and suddenly said, "We can spot you another ten minutes."

He appreciated the gesture, but giving them a smile, simply stated, "I'm ready."

"You know, Leon, you don't talk much about anything, but if the rest were as polite as you, we'd all have it easier."

Assuming Barnes was trying to give him a compliment, he just smiled again. His disposition had greatly improved with the breath of fresh air. It _hadn't_ been easy getting used to prison, but by now he'd accepted his role in life and took the small pleasures given him more seriously.

Then Barnes surprised him by suddenly asking, "You been talking to Kevin Steiner lately?"

"I don't talk to anyone."

"That you don't," Barnes remarked with pursed lips.

Feeling the small bit of tranquility vanish, he followed after the guard, the other two exchanging perplexed looks behind him. The question had startled them, too, but they hadn't been there last night.

They hadn't seen who had visited, who had _seen_ him. "Barnes," he suddenly said, causing the guard to stop and turn around. "Can you let my attorney know that I want to see him?"

"Then you _have_ been talking to Steiner!" Barnes accused, but his mouth quirked up in a smile a second later. "Sure. I'll let him know."

"Thank you." The short walk back went in silence, and all too soon it was just him and his cell again.

Once more, he found himself staring at the little window, his thoughts a mess as memories plagued him. Memories, and even worse, regrets. The light had begun to fade when Barnes suddenly showed up at his cell bars again.

"I hear you haven't eaten all day?" the guard questioned.

"I wasn't hungry," he told the Officer, sitting up and looking over at the untouched tray of food that had been left. He looked up at the guard, searching his face. "Did you get a hold of my attorney?"

"Ya. In fact, he's here, waiting to see you."

Anxious, he stood up.

They chained him at the wrists and ankles, and took him to a small plain room with a single table and two chairs. One chair was set above a ring in the floor that the chains were then attached to, to ensure that he couldn't go anywhere. It was a protocol stipulated in his record, one of many he'd heard the guards occasionally comment about. He supposed he wasn't the typical criminal found with such high restrictions, but part of his record was sealed to all here but the Warden, and he had to admit it wasn't without cause.

A few minutes after they left, a man walked in, suitcase in hand. His attorney was quite a few years older than he was, but one wouldn't know it looking at him. Red hair sat atop a very boyish face covered in freckles. He sat down on the other side of the table and opening his suitcase, pulled out a small tape recorder.

As soon the red button was pressed, his attorney greeted, "You asked to see me?"

"I need you to transfer me to a different prison," he stated, getting right to the point.

His attorney's lips curled down into a frown. "We've been through this, moving you to a lower security prison _isn't_ an option."

He shook his head. "It's not about that. Someone saw me yesterday, someone who knew me from before."

"Who, an inmate?"

"No, a visitor to the prison."

His attorney's frown deepened even further. "Let's assume for a moment you're right, and someone from your old life knows. What do you expect me to do?"

He leaned forward, the chains restricting him from doing much more than that, and stated firmly, "They don't _know_. They only _suspect_. And if you transfer me then they never _will_ know!"

Leaning back, his attorney let out a deep sigh. "I've made as many deals as I can for you. It was all I could do to get you sent here instead of Guantanamo. You have to give me something to work with, if you want something in return."

He shuddered, and then forced himself to lean back. "I had _hoped_ the original deal might still be in affect."

Now his attorney leaned forward, irritation with a touch of anger lining his face. "You signed your _own_ death warrant, not us, not me. It's just a matter of time now."

"You don't think I don't know that?" He grated out, trying hard to keep his emotions at bay. "I know perfectly well _why_ I'm here."

They were both quiet after that, then his attorney reiterated, "I can't do anything for you unless you give me something in return."

He leaned forward again. "And if I do, you'll move me? Keep the original deal?"

"I don't have any control over that."

He sighed, sinking back into his seat. After a few minutes of warring with himself, he finally decided. "I had a key, the kind with a chip in it for cars. Only, the chip _isn't_ for a car."

Frowning once again, his attorney stated, "There wasn't anything like that among your things."

"That's because I didn't leave it with my stuff." He cringed, wishing there was some other way around this. "I left it at my brother's."


	7. Book 1 Bit 7

I fixed the college/collage issue. ;) Thanks for the notifications.

x.x.x.x

Saturday was a much better day for Nancy. Friday had disappeared in a swirl of exhaustion and confusion. It was likely because of the time of year, but she hadn't been able to stop thinking of Frank.

He was gone. There was just no way that man at the prison had been him, but it haunted her anyway. She considered calling Joe, but she didn't think he'd want to hear about it. Even if he did tell her it wasn't real, like she knew she needed to hear, it'd get suck in his head, too. Or worse, he might actually believe her, and think the guy might actually _be_ Frank.

She sank onto her couch and let out a frustrated sigh. Did _she_ think it was Frank? It couldn't have been. It wasn't possible. But…the body they had found was charred beyond recognition. They had to pull dental to identify it, and dental could be swapped if done expertly.

Frank was good, but faking his own death? To what, go to prison? It didn't make sense. Even the WPP wasn't so cruel as to hide someone in _prison_. Not for a year. And Barnes had said the guy had been on Death Row.

Nancy curled her legs up on the couch, fighting with her frustration as she tried to think things through. It _couldn't_ have been him.

Her phone rang, forcing her to get back up with a groan. "Hello?"

"Hey Nancy," a very familiar voice answered over the phone.

A huge smile spread across Nancy's face as she exclaimed, "Ned!" This was _exactly_ what she needed, a distraction from her thoughts.

"How are you doing?" He asked, the question coming out as if it were probing.

"I'm good," she told him, reassuring him. "It's good to hear from you."

"Ya, well, Vanessa and I were in town, and we figured we'd give you a call and see if you'd like to get together some time when you're not busy?"

"I would love to!"

They set a place and time to meet for lunch and Nancy excitedly got ready. Ned was her old high school sweetheart. They had parted ways in college, but they had always kept in touch. Ironically, Vanessa, Ned's wife, had been one of Joe's old girlfriends. The pair had moved down to Florida some time ago, and started a family there.

When Nancy met them at the restaurant, they had a little girl with them, Kelly, their daughter. Nancy mostly knew her from pictures Ned emailed her. "She's gotten so big!" Nancy exclaimed, beaming down at the little brunette.

Kelly immediately remarked, "I'm three!"

Nancy's smile just deepened. High school suddenly felt like forever ago. How had so much time passed? Then Ned was engulfing her in a huge hug. "It's good to see you, Nan. How' you been holding up?"

"I'm good," she told him, but hugged him tightly in return, taking comfort in the contact. When they parted, she smiled widely at Vanessa. The young woman had blossomed with maturity and beauty. "You look gorgeous, Vanessa."

Vanessa just laughed. "Ha! Motherhood does crazy things to your body."

Ned beamed, proclaiming excitedly, "We're going to have a second child!"

Nancy was floored. The pregnancy couldn't be very far along, but it might explain the 'glow' around Ned's wife. "Congratulations," she finally stammered out.

Venessa shrugged. "I know, it's weird. I talked to Callie the other day, and she says I'm too _young_ to have kids!"

Ned chuckled, and good-naturedly remarked, "As if she didn't have one of her own!"

Nancy nodded, caught up in the excitement. Most of the lunch involved Ned talking, telling her about everything that was going on in their lives, and everyone else's, for that matter. It wasn't until he brought up Bess that Nancy realized Ned had been keeping track of their friends far better than she had been.

"She's produced another Independent, 'Call of the Land.' It's already gotten great reviews by Time magazine. She's trying to get it into the Sundance Film Festival. We're going to go this year. I bet she'll make it in."

Ned was almost as much aglow as his wife. Nancy just grinned, happy to be there with them. But then Vanessa caught her eye, and interrupting her husband, she suddenly asked, "Nancy, did we ever thank you?"

"For what?" Nancy asked, confused.

"If it wasn't for that one case you and the boys got us all mixed up in, Ned and I would never have fallen in love."

Nancy wasn't sure if she _wanted_ to be thanked. She was glad they'd gotten together. They certainly seemed like a perfect match, although a part of her admitted she was jealous of that. It was just that, that case, that…_mess_…had gotten a lot of people hurt. It was early in her college days, and the two groups had come together to spend a weekend at a resort in the woods. Things had gotten bad almost from the moment they had gotten there.

It was the last time she'd worked hand in hand with the Hardy Boys. She suddenly realized she was frowning. Ned looked confused, but Vanessa was watching her very carefully. Then the all too wise woman softly said, "We miss him, too."

Ned looked even more confused, which didn't help when his daughter tried to hand him her food. "Don't want, no more," she stated, her words a reflection of Nancy's state of mind.

Forcing a smile on her face, Nancy told them, "Ya, well…" Suddenly all the thoughts she'd been trying to keep away surged forward again, and she knew she had to tell _someone_!

Leaning forward, she pursed her lips, asking intently, "Can I tell you guys something?"

"Of course, Nan. You can tell us anything," Ned automatically stated.

"Something I don't want you guys to tell _Joe_ about." Mostly, she was watching Vanessa, but the woman slowly nodded in agreement. With a sigh, she leaned back, saying. "The other day I had to go to a prison to talk to this guy for work."

Ned's face broke out into a grin. "Cool secret CIA stuff!"

Nancy just glared at him and even his wife swatted him for the comment. "It's not that cool," she stated deadpan. Then took a deep breath. "While I was there I saw this inmate, only for a minute, and he practically fled the moment our eyes met, but…" Now was the part she had to admit to, or go crazy thinking about it. "He looked _exactly_ like Frank."

Vanessa frowned. "It couldn't really be him, could it?"

"No," Nancy admitted, adding, "And even if it was, what would he be doing in prison?" She crossed her arms, looking away in frustration.

The table was quiet except for Kelly, who had pushed her plate away and was coloring on her complimentary kid's placemat, making shushing noises in time to the movement of her crayon.

When Nancy had the courage to look back at them, she found both Ned and Vanessa looking at her with full seriousness. Then Ned finally asked, "What do your instincts tell you?"

She shook her head. "I don't know."

"Nan," he drawled out. She sighed.

"That it's him. That, that man I saw there was _really_ Frank."

Vanessa straightened, definitively stating, "Then it was him." She sounded so matter of fact that Nancy didn't know _what_ to think. Even if they had agreed with her, she didn't think they'd have stayed so calm about it.

"So what are you going to do?" Ned asked.

A new determination filled Nancy, a feeling she hadn't felt in a long time. "I'm going to find out, _for sure_ this time."


	8. Book 1 Bit 8

_Author's Notes_: Thanks to everyone for all your wonderful reviews thus far. Hope it all stays interesting. :D

x.x.x.x.x

That evening, Nancy crept back into the office. Her boss had said he didn't want to see her till Monday, but perhaps he wouldn't be there. And perhaps, if she were lucky, anyone who saw her wouldn't think anything of it. What she had said to the Officer back at the penitentiary had been true. The CIA doesn't sleep.

Maneuvering her way among the cubicles, Nancy glanced at Fairchild's office, relieved to see the door closed. The blinds were drawn, blocking any view in, but rarely did Fairchild shut his door when he was there.

Feeling a bit more confident, Nancy quickly found Isaac's cubical. He, plus a few others, had the weekend shift. Sure enough, he was still there, and if she were going to do what she planned, she'd need his help.

"Hey, Isaac?"

He looked up, his face lighting up with a smile. "Nancy! What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean?" She asked, feeling the first bit of worry. _This_ was why she hadn't wanted to say anything about visiting the grave. When you worked for a company that dealt in secrets, nothing was sacred.

He gave her a meaningful look, confirming her suspicion. Scowling, she remarked. "I'm just fine, thank you, and perfectly capable of working!"

"Ya, like we all want to rush to work everyday," he sarcastically smirked.

Needing to divert his attention back to the reason she was there, Nancy asked, "Is there a way to look up prison records?"

"What, on Steiner?" He questioned, surprised. "You had a copy of all that with you, didn't you?"

"It's not his I'm interested in. While I was there I noticed this one inmate in his cellblock. From his body language I think he might know something that could help us. I wanted to see who he was," Nancy explained, having thought out the best way of looking up the 'Frank look-a-like' while staying under the radar.

Isaac frowned. His dark hair fell forward over his eyes as he tilted his head down in thought. "Well, there's no problem getting a listing of the inmates at Leavenworth, but their cell locations would be held on an independent server on-site. We'd have to send a request, and you know how _they_ are. Federal vs. National Security. It's a never-ending battle of red tape. Probably wouldn't be able to get a response till tomorrow at the earliest."

He looked up at her. "Think it can wait? I've heard Brent thinks the coffee bean's a good lead." His look said all he really thought about _that_, but he also didn't seem excited about trying to deal with more than he had to, too.

She pursed her lips, thinking about how to phrase it so the real reason didn't come out. "I don't know, Isaac. I've just got this _hunch_ that this guy is important."

Suddenly, someone popped their head over the top of the cubical behind them, exclaiming, "Ohhhh! A mystery vibe!"

"What?" Both Nancy and Isaac exclaimed, turning to their co-worker, Tracy. She had a grin ready to split her face.

"A mystery vibe!" Tracy reiterated, and then came around her all too _non-soundproof_ wall to join them, making it three bodies crammed into one little cubicle. "Nancy used to get mystery vibes all the time. At least, that's what I liked to call them. You know, her hunches!" Tracy was practically aglow with excitement.

Nancy groaned. "I don't get that many hunches." _Not anymore_, she thought to herself.

Raising an eyebrow at his overly ecstatic associate, Isaac questioned, "Just how many Skittles have you had tonight, Tracy?"

"Only a couple packs," she retorted. For as skinny as she was, she was a Skittle fiend! "Anyway," Tracy continued, poking Isaac, "This sounds like a fun lead. Let's see where it goes!"

"Not very far." Isaac smirked. "Remember the whole waiting for a response issue?"

"Come on," Tracy almost whined. "There has to be a way around the red tape!"

"Aside from actually declaring an emergency?"

But this was the reason Nancy had come to Isaac. He knew so much about computers he could have been one of the techs upstairs. Rumor was, he _had_ been, but didn't get along with a couple of the guys. Which was hard to believe since he got along with everyone in _their_ department.

Seeing his hesitation, Nancy put on her sweetest smile, hoping Tracy would back her up. "Please, Isaac? For me? If we have to wait all night, I'm _never_ going to get any sleep!"

"Not to mention, there's _nothing_ else to do right now!" Tracy added, which Nancy knew really couldn't be true, but it sounded good anyway.

Isaac looked doubtful for a second, but then smiled charmingly at them, remarking, "How can I say no to two such beautiful women?"

"You can't," Nancy stated with a grin.

They watched him work, accessing system after system through their 'backdoors,' so to speak. Nancy couldn't even come close to doing what Isaac could with a computer, but she knew enough to be able to follow along with a lot of it. First, he put the request in, more to cover their own tails when it came out that the penitentiary records had been accessed. And then he tricked one system after another into thinking it had both received the permission, _and_, that the time was actually sometime the next day instead of that night. At last, he went into the computer systems at Leavenworth directly.

After a few minutes of searching, he remarked, "I remember the good ol'days when a dedicated server actually meant it was _isolated_." And then, after a few dramatic clips on the keyboard, he announced, "There ya go!"

A listing of names came up for Steiner's cellblock, but there were only five listed, and as she compared them to their cell locations, Nancy realized one was missing. The one she needed.

"He's not there anymore. He was in the cell across from Steiner, and it's empty now."

"Hold on, hold on," Isaac grumbled, typing away again. Soon enough, something else came up on the screen that was useful. "Here's why. He was transferred today."

Nancy leaned down, her eyes first going over the name, Leon Hart, and then over the transfer location, Guantanamo Camp. A stab of fear ran through her. "This can't be right."

"It's strange, too," Isaac added. "There's not much info listed, as if it's been blacked out. If he's off to Guantanamo, he might even be one of ours. I'll see if I can find a file on him."

He was about to start another search, but Tracy remarked, a little disappointed. "You're not going to find anything."

"Why not?"

"His name's an alias. He'll be a ghost in the system, now."

Nancy had to suppress the shiver running down her back. It might well be that Tracy's words were all too true. And there wouldn't _be_ any records of 'Leon Hart' at Guantanamo. There weren't records of even _half_ the inmates there, and for good reason.

Isaac turned his seat around to look at Tracy, asking her, "How do you know his name's an alias?"

"Leon Hart?" She drawled out as if it was obvious, but he just shook his head, dumbfounded. Nancy herself had no clue, but she had half expected the name to _be_ an alias…if it _was_ Frank.

Sighing, exasperated, Tracy replied, "You know, Leon Hart, as in _Squall_ Leonhart. He shortened it to Leon when the Heartless destroyed his world because he felt like he failed them."

Isaac just gave her a look and she exclaimed, "Don't you play video games?!"

"Apparently not the right ones."

Nancy felt confused. Why would Frank take on such an obvious alias? Why would he fake his own death? What was he doing in prison, and heading to a prison that the country sent those they didn't want to 'acknowledge' they had? Was it really Frank?

"Nancy?"

She blinked, realizing she'd become completely absorbed by her thoughts. "Ya?"

Isaac gave her a worried look; much like the one he had given her before she had left for Leavenworth. She forced a smile on her face. "Guess we'll have to stick to the coffee bean lead."

Their search hadn't given her anything concrete to hold onto, but it had twanged her 'vibe.' She may not have the _proof_, but her gut told her Frank was alive. And she was even more determined now to find him.

x.x.x.x

_Author's Note_: I just wanted to say, I can not _wait_ to write the next bit! I just _know_ you'll all love it:D


	9. Book 1 Bit 9

Joe Hardy hated Sundays. Joe Hardy hated _working_ on Sundays even more. He wasn't sure if it was Murphy's Law, or just the bane of his existence, but it seemed to him, if he had to work on a Sunday, he also had stacks of paperwork to do. Generally, this was because he'd slacked off most of the week, and the paperwork was due on Monday.

The only thing that satisfied Joe on a Sunday was the knowledge that his partner, Geoff, was generally further behind than he was.

"How do you spell, 'accountable'?" Geoff asked from the next desk over. He was hunched over his keyboard, staring at the screen like an old man. Joe rattled the correct spelling off for him, and then turned to watch as Geoff pecked the letters into place. It was a shame most of their programs didn't include spell check. At least once a week, they got a lecture about using proper grammar and spelling. It hadn't helped much. The lawyers probably thought _all_ cops were illiterate.

Geoff finished his sentence, and then leaned back for a brake as if he were working on something extremely difficult. Seeing Joe, he gruffly questioned, "What are you looking at?"

"You." Joe smirked.

"Ya, well…look somewhere else!" Geoff waved him away in annoyance.

Just then, Joe caught something out of the corner of his eye. Looking across the bullpen, he saw Henry Stewart, one of the guys from Internal Affairs, going into the Chief's office. "Hey, Geoff." His partner looked up and Joe nodded his head towards the office.

"Umm." Geoff mused. "Know of anything that's gone down lately?"

It was a somber issue whenever IA got involved. "There was that bag of weed that went missing from evidence a few months ago."

Geoff shook his head. "The weed was one of the mechanic's. I've heard the WPP lost one of their guys here in New York, maybe it's about that."

Whatever it was, the paperwork was on hold until further notice. They weren't the only ones to have noticed Stewart's entrance.

After twenty minutes the Chief's door opened and he stepped outside. The Chief's face was not a happy one. He looked over the watching cluster of people with thin lips, and when his eyes got to Joe, a shiver ran through Joe's body. "Joe," he called out. "Can you come to my office?"

Joe frowned, but he stood up. Geoff stood up as well. "Joe?" The simple question said it all.

Shaking his head, Joe emphatically stated, "I have no idea, Geoff."

That was good enough for his partner. Together they walked through the pen to the Chief. "Just Joe," the Chief stated, but Geoff stubbornly shook his head.

"No, sir. I'll behave, but we're _partners_."

The Chief sighed, and then motioned them inside.

Stewart was leaning against the desk, his face as disturbed as the Chief's. Joe had never disliked the man. One couldn't be IA without being hard, and the guy had never been impolite. But then, Joe had never really _had_ to deal with IA much, either.

The Chief motioned them to take seats, and then made himself comfortable behind his desk. Joe looked at the Chief, but then turned his attention to Stewart. The Chief was there to make sure nothing improper would happen, but it would be Stewart who would conduct the 'interrogation.'

"Officer Joe Hardy-"

Joe cut him off. "You don't have to be so formal. We know each other, might as well admit it."

Stewart nodded, and began again. "Joe, when was the last time you were at the impound?"

"Last week, when we were dealing with the attempted car theft turned homicide." Perhaps his answer was too quick, because Stewart looked over at Geoff, as if he were expecting to see some sort of reaction to the contrary. Geoff sat with his legs crossed and his face set in stone. He was there to support Joe, and nothing else.

Looking back at Joe, Stewart then asked, "Where were you Friday morning?"

Joe huffed, remarking sourly, "I was sleeping off a hangover."

At that, Geoff put his two cents in. "The boys and I got him drunk. Seriously drunk. Half of the department was there if you need collaboration."

"And yesterday?" Stewart questioned.

Joe sighed. "I was at my parents most of the day, home for the rest. You can call them if you want to."

Stewart's lips thinned, but then some of the hardness left his face, replaced instead by a small look of regret. He reached behind him and grabbed a folded piece of paper from the desk. Joe had an idea about what it was even before it was handed to him.

"It's a warrant to search your apartment."

Geoff was half out of his chair, exclaiming, "What? Why?!"

Joe didn't say anything, but angrily read the warrant, confirming its validity with a calculating eye.

The Chief glared at Geoff until he sat back down, and then Stewart told them. "A car was stolen Friday morning from the impound lot. Yesterday, the vehicle was used in a robbery, in Pennsylvania. A witness to the robbery gave your description."

"What?" Joe exclaimed, barely holding in his indignation. "Are you fricking kidding me?"

The regret only depended as Stewart added. "Because it crossed state lines the Feds are involved. In fact, they're the ones who came to me about the matter."

"They're here now?" Joe asked.

"They're searching your apartment as we speak."

x.x.x.x.x

_Author's Note_: The second half of this scene will have to be tomorrow's bit. This whole working 60 plus hours a week doesn't leave much time for anything else. .


	10. Book 1 Bit 10

_Warning_: Some bad language ahead. My bad. :P

x.x.x.x

"For _what_?" Joe demanded, even as his partner exploded beside him, "This is total BS!"

The Chief stood up, his face stern as he instantly ordered them to 'calm down.' "We all believe Joe didn't do it, but we have to go through the steps anyway."

With a sigh, Stewart added, "Until they're done, I'm afraid I can't let you leave, Joe."

"As if I have some place to go," Joe grumbled, but his mind was a storm of thoughts and emotions. "Just how confident are they in this witness of theirs?"

"From the way the Feds were talking, _very_."

Joe shook his head. It didn't make any sense. The FBI were some of the most 'cautious' agents of the government Joe had ever worked with. Usually _too_ cautious. This felt rushed, and with a warrant against a _cop_ on nothing other than a witness statement? "There has to be something more to this," Joe stated.

At the same time, Geoff demanded, "What judge would sign a warrant based on a witness statement? Especially if it involved someone from another state?!"

Stewart's frown deepened. "If there's nothing to find, it won't take long."

"_If!_" Geoff exclaimed in outrage. "We _know_ there's nothing to find! And if they do, I bet you anything it hadn't been there before."

It was probably the nicest way Geoff could come up with for saying 'any evidence they find would have be planted,' without actually _accusing_ anyone of planting evidence. Joe couldn't keep the smile off his face. He hadn't realized just how loyal his partner was. But then, as he thought about it, if it had been Geoff in this bind, he'd probably do the same.

"There's another way of proving I wasn't there," he offered to the group. They looked at him and he explained, "If this robbery happened in Pennsylvania, and I was at my parents most of the day, it'd be easy to calculate the time it would take me to get there, proving that I couldn't be in two places at once."

"It'd be one witness statement against another. Your parents' word on how long you were there might not hold up."

Joe shook his head and drolly smirked. "My family's had a lot of unexpected visitors over the years, so my dad keeps the place under constant surveillance now. We'd just need to get the tapes."

"Geoff," the Chief immediately ordered, but Geoff refused.

"Sorry, sir. I not leaving Joe on his own." His face was set and his arms crossed.

Joe was about to tell him to go, that he'd be fine, but the Chief stood up and stepped outside before he could. Half their department was anxiously waiting to hear about what was going on. When Joe had first gotten out of school and the academy, he'd felt completely out of place. Now, these people, his co-workers whom he trusted to hold his back, had become his extended family.

If it were any of _them_ in here with the IA, he'd be doing everything he could to help. They were no different, and soon enough the Chief had sent a volunteer off to fetch the tapes from his parents. Joe pulled out his phone, intending to call ahead and give his parents a heads up, but the moment he did, Stewart stopped him. "Joe, you can't."

"What?"

"You can't be part of any of this if we're going to be able to use these tapes as evidence in your support." Stewart held his hand out, and Joe forlornly handed his phone over. "I don't like this situation, either," the IA officer stated, sounding sincere. "But we need to do it right if we're going to get the Feds off your back."

Joe sighed, letting out some of his frustration as he did.

"Don't worry, Joe," Geoff reassured him. "We'll figure this out."

"Ya, I know we will," Joe stated, but his mind wouldn't let go of the fact that the whole situation was _weird_.

It was a good thing crime was down that day, because the Chief wasn't letting anyone near his office, and Joe and Geoff weren't allowed to leave, for _any_ reason. It was about midmorning when the tapes arrived, along with two other people, his father, and, to Joe's surprise, Vanessa.

He stood up when he saw them through the window. Stewart immediately told him to sit down again, but Joe argued, "I'm not going anywhere!"

"Just stay here," Stewart ordered, moving to the door. The Chief greeted the coming group as well. Joe moved so he could see them clearly, and leaned against the wall. Vanessa caught his eyes, her eyebrows curving down in worry.

"Fenton," The Chief greeted. The two men warmly shook hands. They'd worked together on _numerous_ occasions.

"What's this all about?" Joe's father returned.

The Chief regrettably told him, "I can't tell you. Not yet. But we're hoping these tapes of yours can clear something up for us."

His father nodded. He understood. He didn't _like_ it, but he understood. Joe didn't like it either, and then Vanessa asked, "Can I talk to Joe?"

Stewart immediately replied, "It's against the rules."

His father then turned angry eyes on the man and Joe was amused to see Stewart flinch. Joe highly doubted Stewart had ever encountered the World Famous Detective, Fenton Hardy, before, but he was sure to have heard of him. With a sigh, the IA officer motioned his head towards the office, saying simply, "Five minutes."

Vanessa took her chance and quickly slipped past the man into the room. She wasted no time with a hello and threw her arms around Joe in a tight hug. "Joe! Are you okay?"

"Ya, I'm fine," Joe told her, both comforted and alarmed by the intensity of her worry. He put his hands on her shoulders gently pushing her back. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. For a moment he could forget that she'd chosen someone else. Smiling warmly, he reassured her, "Honest. I'm fine." Then he asked her, perplexed, "What are you even doing here?"

"We were in town so I went to stop by your place, only there's these suits there, so I went to your parents house instead, knowing something had to be wrong. That's when the detective showed up asking for the surveillance tapes. I wasn't about to be left behind, Joe Hardy!"

Joe grinned, but her use of 'we' stuck in his head. "Your family's here?"

"Ned and Kelly. We're on a road trip, and considering the time of year it is, I wanted to stop by Bayport." Her face softened. "I'm sorry about Frank."

"It's okay," he mumbled. It was hard to think that life moved on, but it did. Vanessa was a testament to that. Their break up had been a hard one. Originally, he hadn't thought they'd ever be friends again. And then things happened, and she married, and had a kid, and time passed, and here they were, each leading a very different life than the one before. "I'm really glad you're here," he stated, and he meant it.

From the corner of the room, Geoff cleared his throat. Grinning again, Joe introduced, "Vanessa, this is Geoff, my partner."

"It's nice to meet you," Vanessa politely said, but then immediately demanded of Joe, "So what's going on?"

"I can't talk about it. But seriously, it's nothing to be concerned about."

She bit her lip, and after so many years together, Joe _knew_ she was holding something back. Then, hesitantly, she questioned, "Does it have anything to do with your brother?"

"What? No. Why would you say that?" Joe asked, his brain stumbling over the very thought.

She hedged, and then blurted out, "The timing is peculiar. And wasn't it you who once said you 'don't believe in coincidence?'"

"Actually…" It was Frank who had once said that. He sighed. He couldn't deal with both his brother's memories _and_ this mess. "This has nothing to do with that, Vanessa. Trust me."

"I do," she murmured still looking disturbed. She looked away, and when she looked back her expression had changed. All that was there now was her worry. "Your parents have offered us a place to stay at their house. Let us know what's happening, okay?"

"I will," he promised. She stepped outside the office, leaving just Geoff and Joe. The rest were still conversing while someone went to get a TV/VCR.

Geoff whistled softly. "That's one fine girl watching over you." Joe just huffed. Giving Joe a sly look, Geoff guessed, "You and her were an item?"

"Once upon a time," Joe admitted.

"And you let her go?"

Joe sighed, finally sitting back down. "Life is full of unexpected changes." His partner didn't comment and the two of them waited in silence. At long last a TV was found and rolled into the office. The Chief had to convince Joe's father to leave, but Joe doubted his dad would be much further than the waiting room downstairs. His father still had a lot of pull around here and it wasn't like a Hardy to just 'let something go.'

Watching the tapes had proven exactly what Joe had said they would, but they still had to go through all the steps. Stewart left for a bit to get the right paper work signed by the right people, and the Chief got on the phone to try and expedite the matter.

For Joe, who was stuck doing _nothing_, it was one of the most frustrating hours of his life. At long last, Stewart returned, but the man didn't look pleased. In fact, he looked outright _pissed_. Following behind him was a 'suite'. A Fed, by the look of him. At first, Joe thought the man was no older than himself, but as the red haired man entered, Joe realized it was just an illusion. Age lines creased the man's boyish face, and his attitude was that of someone who'd been around a long time.

"Joe Hardy?" he asked, not bothering to hold out his hand.

"Yea?"

"I'm Agent Fuller with the FBI. You drive a White Lexus?"

Stewart put in before Joe could answer, saying in a tight voice, "You don't have to answer, Joe."

Joe was confused. What the hell was going on now? "Yea, so?"

"May I see your key?" Agent Fuller asked, completely stone faced.

"What? Why? Now you think I stole _my own_ car?" Joe demanded.

At the same time, the Chief rose to his feet in outrage. "We've already proven Officer Hardy couldn't _possibly_ have been at that robbery. Just what the hell is this about?" At the same time, Geoff exclaimed much less gracefully, "This is Bullshit!"

The Agent's face didn't change even a bit. He pulled out a form from his inside pocket and handed it to the Chief. The Chief read it over, his face darkening with every word. Then, to Joe's shock, he remarked with hard anger, "This _is_ bullshit!"

"Regardless, I'm going to need your full cooperation," Agent Fuller stated. He turned back to Joe. "Your keys?"

"Chief?" Joe asked, half out of his chair.

The older man sighed, saying, "You're being charged with attempted murder in a hit and run."

Joe couldn't breath. Nothing made sense. Everyone was talking now. Geoff arguing with anyone who would listen, Stewart telling Joe they'd get to the bottom of this, the FBI Agent demanding cooperation, and the Chief telling them all to be quiet.

At last they were, and Joe looked at his boss, feeling more lost than he ever had as a rookie. He was one of the _good guys!_ How did this happen? But then he looked up at the red haired man who'd purposely come here to screw up his career. There was a calculating hardness to the man's eyes, a look that betrayed the outward calm appearance.

"I'll need you keys," he said, one last time.

Joe pulled them out of his pocket and handed them over. Agent Fuller took them, finding the car key and pulling it off. "This hasn't been duplicated?"

Joe shook his head. "Can't. Has a chip to prevent just that."

The man nodded, satisfied, and Joe's internal warning systems came on full alert. Now he _knew_ there was something off about this whole case. He was being framed, but why?

"I doubt I have to remind you, but you're not allowed to leave the city. You can get your car back when we're done with our investigation." Agent Fuller stated, turning to leave.

Stewart was a step behind him, as the IA Officer grated out, "I'm just going to come with you, to make _sure_ that gets into evidence."

As soon as the door closed behind him, Geoff erupted again. "Chief! This has to be bogus! First they say he's a thief, and now it's a hit and run? Impossible!"

The Chief was in equal agreement. "I don't understand what's going on, either, but I intend to find out!" Then his face filled with regret, and the Chief finally said what Joe knew had to come. "I'm sorry, Joe, but until this is sorted out, I'm going to have to take your badge and your gun."

Geoff was about to argue again, but Joe put his hand on his partner's arm, stopping him. "I understand," he stated. Then, far calmer than he thought he'd be, Joe stood up and unclipped both items, laying them on the Chief's desk.

He didn't say anything more, but turned and left. He had never needed a gun or a badge to get to the bottom of a mystery before, and he certainly didn't need one, now.


	11. Book 1 Bit 11

Nancy waited nervously as the phone rang on the other end. She hadn't come up with any lead on her end, so she figured she'd have to start with everything from the past. Only, that meant going through Frank's old things.

"Hello?" A much younger woman answered than the one she was expecting.

"Vanessa?" Nancy questioned in surprise.

"Nancy! You need to tell Joe about what you saw," she immediately stated, but her voice dropped to low whisper.

"No, I told you before, I can't until I have some kind of proof! _Any_ proof!"

"But." Nancy could hear Vanessa breathing heavily with frustration. "Look, something happened. Joe's been suspended from work because of some bogus charge. What if it's related to…you know."

"And what if it's not?" Nancy argued, but at the same time shocked because she couldn't understand why Joe would be suspended in the first place. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. "And even if it is, although I don't see _how_, what am I supposed to tell them? Hey, I think Frank's not actually dead, but so sorry, he's in prison awaiting an execution!"

Nancy was just as frustrated as Vanessa, but again, without anything to go on, she couldn't stand the thought of breaking the Hardys' heart. The man from the prison, 'Leon Hart,' had been transferred to Guantanamo. In the CIA's books, he was as good as dead now anyway. She sighed heavily. Saying a little calmer, "Look, I'm sorry. I just don't want to cause them any more pain."

Vanessa was quiet, but with a small sigh of her own, murmured, "I know. I don't, either. Why were you calling?"

"I was hoping I could find some sort of clue if I went through Frank's old things."

"Hold on," she immediately replied, and then Nancy could hear her calling for Fenton Hardy.

"Hello? Nancy?" Fenton said into the phone after being told who it was.

"Hey, Mr. Hardy. I hear this might be a bad time."

There was a small huff over the phone and Fenton's warm voice replied, "Our family's are used to complications. What can I do for you?"

"Um," she hesitated, hating the idea of using subterfuge. The Hardys were almost like a second family to her, she hated lying to them, but then, it wouldn't really be a lie, just an omission of the whole truth. "With the time of year and all, I kinda was wondering if it'd be alright for me to look through some of Frank's old things? Do a bit of reminiscing."

Fenton didn't answer right away, and Nancy was afraid he'd tell her to try back some other day, but then he said, "It wouldn't be a problem. We've got a full house, Laura's even convinced Joe to stay for dinner. You might as well come, too. Maybe you can knock some sense into Joe while you're here."

"I heard he was suspended, is it that bad?" Nancy asked with worry.

"Worse," Fenton stated, but his voice sounded almost humorous. "I thought he'd matured over the years, but he's as headstrong as he always was. I'll let him explain when you get here. You did plan to come over tonight, right?"

"Yea." She didn't know what to think. Just what _had_ happened with Joe?

What Fenton had said bothered Nancy the whole way over, a drive that suddenly seemed way too long! Half the afternoon was gone by the time she got there. Parking against the curb, she spotted the strange car she assumed was Vanessa and Ned's, and looked around for Joe's. It wasn't around, making her think she might not get to find out from Joe, after all, but as she got out and headed for the front door, it opened, and Joe stepped out.

He stopped short when he saw her, annoyance briefly crossing his face, as he half demanded, "Did they call you in to try and change my mind, too?"

"Joe, I have no idea what you're talking about," she honestly told him, once again feeling the worry rise.

He sighed, his expression instantly softening as he leaning against the front porch. "Sorry, Nan. Things are just tense right now."

"What happened?" She leaned against the porch beside him, giving him her full attention. Her own selfish reason for being there could wait. Frank wasn't there anymore, but his brother was, and she had to take care of the people in front of her, first.

Joe shook his head, confusion lining his face. "Someone's framing me, and I can't figure out _why_." Nancy didn't have to prod to get the details out of him. She just had to listen. He told her the basics of everything that had happened that day. She'd been shocked when he'd mentioned the FBI Agent, but held her questions till the end. When he finished his tale he sighed heavily. A slight smile touched his lips as he remarked, "Since I don't have my car, I think mom intends to hold me here as her prisoner. She's making my _last meal_ as we speak."

Nancy flinched at his uncanny choice of words, and then commented, "Maybe it's a good thing." He gave her a sharp look and she explained, "You're a cop now, Joe. There are rules we have to follow that we didn't have too, before."

"Is that what they teach you in the CIA? To always follow the book?" He sarcastically asked.

She bristled in the face of his anger. "Joe, you trust your co-workers, don't you?"

"With my life," he automatically stated.

"Then let them help you!"

His face tightened, but he didn't say anything. Nancy knew it was the best for Joe if he _did_ stay out of it. Involving himself in an issue as sensitive as this would more than likely dig him in worse. Yet, as she thought about it, she knew if she were in his place, she wouldn't be able to wait and watch as other people fought for control over her fait, either. She sighed, a small smile gracing her lips as she finally asked, "What have you got, so far?"

He looked at her, catching her smile and returning it with one of his own, although it slipped away again as he got serious. "This Agent Fuller is legit. Dad even talked to the head of Fuller's department, but they're being really tight lipped about the whole '_case_.'" He looked out across the yard, his face scrunching up in thought. "You know, at first I was thinking they just wanted to search my apartment, for…_whatever_…reason they had."

"But?"

"But now I'm thinking they had just intended to use the search as an excuse to plant evidence, only when my dad's tapes debunked their false 'arrest' they had to come up with something else."

Nancy nodded slowly, following his train of thought. "Makes sense, only-"

"Only," he cut her off, caught up in his own words, "why frame me at all? And they sure came up with the warrants awfully fast!"

She thought about it a second. "What cases were you working on? Maybe you were getting too close for comfort on one of them?"

Joe's eyes lit up and he touched his pocket as if reaching for something only to exclaim, "Crap!"

"What?"

"Stewart still has my phone!"

Nancy immediately handed hers over and listened as Joe called his partner, Geoff. The man would have the files put together and be over 'in a jiffy.' This place was certainly seeing a lot of people today, Nancy thought as she turned to look up the front of the Hardy home. She hadn't visited the house too often in her youth, but it still seemed an integral part of her history. Like a rock that never moved.

As Joe was handing the phone back, the front door opened again and little Kelly poked her head out the door. "Nancy!" she happily cried out. Nancy herself was shocked the three year old had remembered who she was. "You coming in?" She asked in child's high-pitched voice.

Nancy smiled widely. "Yes, I'm coming in."

The girl just turned and went back the other way, leaving the door wide open for them. Nancy turned to invite Joe in with her, but was surprised to see a new emotion across her friend's face. "You okay?" She immediately asked.

"Yea," he said with a husky voice, and then smiled, the fleeting look of longing completely gone now. "We better let mom know we're expecting one more for dinner now."

She frowned, confused as Joe walked past her into the house. Then he half turned, saying over his shoulder, "By the way, not to complain or anything, but, why _are_ you here?"

"Um…well…"


	12. Book 1 Bit 12

_Author's Note:_ Yes, it's really been two months. It was only supposed to be a week, but needless to say, inventory didn't go so well, and I've been putting in 65 to 90 hours, 6 to 7 days a week for the last two months. Can't say it's completely over with, but things are finally starting to calm down. That, and I hit my vacation time, which helps a lot. :P

So I'm back, and as of now, the bits shall be out as daily as humanly possible. They just might not be as much of a bit as they were before. But, eh, that was the purpose of the experiment, no? To write and post, no matter the size of the bit written? So, hello my friends. Thank you for your comments, reviews, hits, and persistence. We shall now continue forth with this conspiracy.

x.x.x.x.x

Nancy sat surrounded by boxes in the Hardy's basement. Dinner had been great, a moment to enjoy herself and just forget why she was there. But that moment was over, and the mood was now far more serious. Upstairs, the men were pouring over Joe's current cases, looking for a reason why the Fed's, or someone with high connections, would frame him.

For a second Nancy wondered if Vanessa was right in thinking it was somehow connected to Nancy's 'sighting' of Frank, but the young CIA agent just couldn't think of how. In her job, and even before that, she'd learned never to rule out any possibility, but the whole situation didn't make any sense. How was one supposed to connect the dots when the dots were miles apart?

She sighed, pushing aside yet another box of old schoolwork. "I wonder who decided to keep all this, Frank or his mom?" Nancy murmured under her breath. One entire box was dedicated to Frank's elementary days, three more to his junior high. And not things she thought Frank would want to keep. It made her wonder if her parents had a set of boxes enshrining a part of her childhood stashed somewhere in their basement, too.

The next box was a little more interesting. It was full of a variety of objects, each one individually wrapped to keep them from breaking. She pulled the tissue away with care, taking her time to examine each piece. Some she even recognized from his room, little knickknacks and keepsakes he'd collected over the years. Looking at them now, Nancy figured most had been picked up from the various countries the Hardy Brothers had been to as mementoes. One was a small flute of sorts with lettering on the back that looked Russian. She turned it over a couple times, but resisting the temptation to test it out, put it with the rest of the objects now littering the carpet around her. While this box had been interesting, nothing in it had given her even one clue as to why his death might have been faked.

It had been hard going through his things. Memories had plagued her and emotions flooded her. Worse yet was the growing fear that this was a dead end, because if it was, she didn't know where to look next.

"Find anything?"

Nancy looked up to see Vanessa on the stairs leading down. "Not really."

The young woman came down and sitting across from Nancy, picked up the same flute the CIA agent had just examined. "I wonder when he got this?" She mused, doing much as Nancy had done.

Pulling her knees up to her chest, Nancy softly replied, "I think it's from Russia." She sighed, and dejectedly looking around at all the objects, murmured, "I wish I could ask him."

Vanessa put the flute back down, and with a kind smile, said, "That's why you're here, so that one day you _can_ ask him."

Nancy closed her eyes, trying to force the fears back. "Vanessa. Even if I can figure out what's really going on, he might be out of reach."

"What are you talking about? You said you saw him at that-"

"They already moved him," Nancy interrupted.

Vanessa frowned, her eyebrows coming together with momentary anger. "Who?"

Shaking her head, Nancy openly told her, "I don't know. But the guy, the guy who _might_ be Frank was transferred the day after I saw him."

Unlike Nancy, this news actually seemed to excite Vanessa. "It can't be a coincidence. It _has_ to be him."

"Ya, I suppose," Nancy admitted, not sounding sure even to herself.

"Only…" Vanessa drawled out, giving Nancy a hard stare.

Nancy looked away from that penetrating gaze. How was she supposed to say they sent Frank to the prison the US sent its terrorists? "The place he was transferred to, it doesn't really exist." Which was true enough. It was as out of reach as the moon, even for her. She forced herself to look at Vanessa, stating, "He's a ghost in the system now."

Once again, the vibrate woman surprised Nancy. Vanessa leaned forward, and putting a hand on Nancy's knee replied with full seriousness, "He's been a ghost for a year. And since when were sleuths afraid of ghosts?"

Nancy smiled and huffed out a small chuckle. "How is it that you've become so wise?"

"Kids!" Vanessa immediately retorted. "I've learned more from my daughter than I ever thought possible!" She smiled, and then looking around, questioned, "What haven't you gone through yet?"

Again Nancy smiled. She wouldn't say anything, but internally, she was glad someone else was here with her. Together they searched the remaining boxes, but of all the stuff, the most promising was the box of old computer parts.

Nancy picked up the hard drive, but it looked old, and partially burnt. Nancy frowned. Nothing else in the box had any kind of fire damage to it. Which, in itself, made the hard drive worth looking at.

"This looks modified," Vanessa commented, examining an old NIC.

Eyebrows rising, Nancy questioned, "You know a lot about computers?"

Vanessa huffed out a small laugh. "One can't hang around Phil without picking up a thing or to. He's running his own tech division for Blue Wave in Seattle now, can you believe that?" Nancy couldn't help but be impressed. Blue Wave was a rather powerful company who was consistently making the headlines with their latest breakthroughs in technology. Word around the CIA water cooler was that Blue Wave was even involved in quite a few defense contracts.

Nancy took the altered Network Card and the half burnt hard drive, carefully wrapping them in some extra tissue. "Well, then I guess I'll have to see what my own teckie friends can do with this."

"Hey," Geoff's gruff voice suddenly called down the stairs, "Mrs. H wants to know if you ladies would like any pie."

"We'll be up in a second," Vanessa replied before Nancy could protest, then, putting a hand on Nancy's knee again, said so only Nancy could hear, "You'll find him, Nan. I know you will."

Wishing she were as confident as Vanessa, Nancy tightly smiled, nodding in agreement.

Impatient, Geoff descended a couple steps and stated loudly, "It's _apple_ pie!"

"We're coming, we're coming! _Men!_"

Nancy followed Vanessa up, holding her wrapped bundle at her side, out of sight. It wasn't like she doubted the Hardy's would let her take them, but she wasn't sure she could face the questions.

A slip of the hand put the items safely buried in her jacket, but as she turned towards the kitchen she found Joe staring at her from across the room. She knew he must have seen, but he didn't ask, didn't say a word, and with a sudden change of attitude turned away, a large almost uncharacteristic grin playing across his face as he cracked a joke Nancy couldn't hear.

She sighed, and playing along, joined the rest for pie. They all needed a break from the real world.


	13. Book 1 Bit 13

_Hey Frank, how's it going?_

He smiled, a soft laugh shaking his shoulders as he replied into the phone, "What do you need this time?"

_Why do you think I need something? Can't I just be calling my big brother?_

"If you were 'just calling' you'd have started with your latest complaint about your partner."

_He's treating me like a kid! Like I don't know anything. Aside from the fact that I've been out of the Academy for forever now, I could run circles around this guy. _

His smile grew as he listened to his brother's tirade. It made it seem like they weren't so far away. Something he was feeling more and more of late. Patient, he waited for his brother to get to why he was really calling.

_So, Frank, I was wondering if I could get your opinion on something._

"Uh uh." He smirked.

On the other end of the line he could practically feel his brother squirming. _Well, we found this body the other day. He's a member of a local gang around here, and all the Narcs think it was a gang hit from a rival gang._

"But…?"

_But, it's too clean. Gang hits are messy. Public if possible. It's all about making a point. This guy was found hidden in a dumpster._

"What was the cause of death?"

_A single stab wound to the chest._

"Sounds personal. What color are his fingers?" It wasn't hard to get caught up in the mystery of the case. He knew his brother was the one actually fighting crime now, but it was a hard addiction to let go of, and these little calls were often his only source of relief.

There was a pause as he heard his brother flipping through a file, then, _Uh. Thanks Frank._

Chuckling, he replied, "Any time." His brother's reaction was telling enough. Whatever was on the fingers was a clue. He wouldn't know what came of anything until his brother got back to him, but he already knew his brother would. Their lives could take them to opposite sides of the world and they'd still find a way to keep in touch.

_Is he completely under now?_

Yes, but the EEG still shows a lot of active brain activity.

_Good. _

The voices drifted across his consciousness like a lure along the top of a still pond. He naturally wanted to move closer, use them to anchor his mind the semblance of reality they portrayed. And indeed, one voice among them got louder than the other.

_Frank. Frank can you hear me? Do you remember me?_

Unbidden a whisper escaped his lips, "Yes."

_Good. Now, do you remember when you and I first met?_

An image of a park flashed through his mind. A park in Maryland. "Yes."

_Do you remember what I said to you?_ The voice softly asked.

He shook his head. "Not to me. You were talking to someone else."

_No Frank, I was talking to you. You came to me that day, and we met. You wanted to help us._

Again he shook his head. The image of the park and of two men talking stuck firmly in his mind. The image was distant, as it might be if someone were looking down on the scene from a short distance. Other things made their imprint in his mind. Other men were watching the two talking just as he was. They were covertly mingled in with the rest of people enjoying the park that day, but he knew where each person was that didn't belong. One stood out among the rest.

"Earc."

_He's not here, Frank. I want you to think back. Back to that day we met in my office. _

Sir, his brain activity's increasing.

He didn't know why, but suddenly he knew he shouldn't, _couldn't_, listen to the voice anymore. Something depended on his silence, something he couldn't quite remember.

But the voice was persistent. _Frank, listen to me. You're not a bad person. I know your history, I know the kind of man you are, and this isn't you. You came to me to help us, not to hinder us. I just need you to tell me where it is Frank. Where did you leave it?_

Unbidden other images dared to surface in his mind in response, but all instincts screamed at him. If he let this continue, he'll lose. He didn't know what he'd lose, but the knowledge that he'd lose something was stronger than the drug coursing through his veins.

He's fighting it.

Bits of memory tempted him, but he pushed against it. Pushing made his mind hurt, but he pushed anyway. Somehow he knew the memories were wrong, being there was wrong. He pushed harder, ignoring the pain.

A loud alarm went off. It made the pain much worse, but still he struggled.

EKGs are spiking. If he doesn't relax he's going to go into cardiac arrest.

_Frank! Stop this! Stop fighting us. _

If we don't sedate him now, we're going to kill him.

_Damn it!_

The pain finally ended. A dense blackness surrounded him like a thick suffocating fog. He fought it as long as he could, but at last he surrendered to the blackness.

Voices still swam out to him, but they were more distant whispers on a nonexistent wind. It was hard to tell the difference between them and stray thoughts caught up in the surrounding fog.

_Did you get it?_

Yes. His brother had no idea what he'd been carrying around with him this whole time.

_And just what exactly was it?_

A list. A very dangerous list.


	14. Book 1 Bit 14

_Author's Note_: Sorry guys. Vacations are a lot busier than I remember them being. :P And today's my last day off. La sigh. Oh well, on with life, eh?

x.x.x.x.x.x

Nancy had gotten home late, but when she tried to go to sleep her mind wouldn't be still. There were too many questions, too many uncertainties. After a while of trying _not_ to think, she gave up and got up again. Grabbing a notepad and pen she made herself comfortable in her living room and started a list. Perhaps if she could get all her thoughts on paper they'd stop tormenting her, but as she wrote out what little she knew, it had the reverse affect.

Biting the end of the pen, Nancy stared at the list. The inmate she saw was Frank. That much she had to believe for any of this to have a purpose. He was in prison under an alias. His record had been blacked out. Someone had faked Frank's death to the point of changing out dental records and other identifiable details. It pointed to some very professional work. But it was a lot of effort just to put someone in prison.

If he hadn't been in isolation Nancy might have believed Frank was there undercover. Still, it was still a nice thought. Undercover for _what_ was the real question, but even as she mused over the idea, she knew it wasn't fathomable. They wouldn't have moved him if he was undercover. They certainly wouldn't have moved him to _Guantanamo_.

She sat back wondering if he was there now. She'd never been to the prison herself, but she'd seen pictures. Guantanamo Camp was a prison the CIA knew very well. It was one of only a few prisons specifically made to house terrorists held on US soil. Records of the inmates weren't exactly public knowledge, even to Government Officials.

It was hard for her to image Frank in such a place, for _any_ reason.

Leaning her head back she closed her eyes, remembering the moment she'd seen him. He'd looked different than the Frank she knew. The confidence had been lost, along with the warmth he had that seemed to give strength to anyone around him. None of that had been there. But the eyes hadn't changed. His sense of awareness, the intelligence Nancy had come to respect time and time again, it gave him away as sure as anything. But then…she'd never forget the way he'd shrunk away from her, almost desperate to take the moment of recognition back.

He hadn't wanted her to see him.

The truth behind it was hard for her to swallow. If he'd been undercover as her mind wanted to believe, it would make sense, but it wasn't like that. His fear hadn't been of being discovered, it was of being _seen_. It was an act of shame.

Tears formed at the corners of Nancy's eyes and she opened them, no longer wanting to remember the man she'd seen in prison.

For a long time she sat there, her mind finally stilling in the silence, but still no closer to being relaxed. In the end she decided it didn't matter. It didn't matter why he'd been there that day, only that he was alive. And so she was going to find him, and when she did, she'd ask him herself. No matter what had happened, he was _still_ Frank.

Knowing sleep wouldn't be possible Nancy got up and got ready for work. In the past, when she had been faced with a mystery, she had never worried about how it would all turn out. She just focused on collecting clues, details, and when the time was right they would all just fall into place. Keeping her eyes open and her mind alert had not only saved her life a number of times, but it had also solved numerous crimes. She couldn't do that if her mind was bogged down with worry. At some point, this mystery would make sense. She just didn't have enough clues yet.

Perhaps the items from Frank's computer might give her one more.

It was only three in the morning when Nancy walked over to her desk, her laptop bag hanging at her side. She wasn't going to chance not having it with her again. That, and it might give her an excuse to go visit the tech guys upstairs.

To her surprise, a note had been left for her from Brent.

'Your peaberry mocha lead was solid. Operation begins today at 0700'

"You're kidding," she said out loud, a smirk curling her lips. It was a bright spot on a gloomy morning, and she took it as a sign. She wondered if they'd let her listen in on operation. Sometimes they did, if it was close enough. But most likely she'd get the transmission afterwards. There was a file on her desk, and leaving her bag in her chair, Nancy flipped through it as she made her way to the kitchenette for coffee. This looked like it was going to be a long day for her.

"You're here early."

Nancy looked up from her reading to see Isaac leaning against the wall nursing a cup of coffee and looking rather exhausted. "So are you."

"Actually," he said with a smirk, "I'm here late." He motioned to the file. "That the update about Turner?"

She nodded, slipping the file under her arm as she poured herself a cup. "I admit, I didn't think it was much of a lead, but…"

Isaac laughed. "Neither did we. Well, no one but Brent. I never knew the guy loved his coffee so much. This is from his private stash."

Nancy quirked an eyebrow and then cautiously took a sip. She nearly gagged.

"Strong stuff." Isaac laughed again.

Nancy grimaced, but refrained from pouring the cup out just because she knew he was waiting for her to do exactly that. "So how come you're here so late?"

"Another top priority came in today. Nothing serious. In fact I'm the only one on the assignment, but Fairchild wants it ready by morning." He grimaced, and determinedly took another sip of the horrendously strong coffee. "Which of course means-"

"That you're here all night," Nancy finished. She could empathize for the man. she'd been in his spot many a times. They all had. Brightening, she realized it also might give her the opportunity she needed. "You know Isaac, since I'm here early, I could help you."

He quirked an eyebrow, intelligent eyes sizing her up. "But?"

She gave him a winning smile. "I have a small favor to ask in return."

He rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you want me to try and break into Quantanamo's records now. You know there's not going to be anything there, anyway."

"No, nothing like that. My friend burnt his computer, and I was wondering if you could see if you could recover his hard drive for me. It would mean a lot."

He hedged, but with a look at the clock gave in. "Okay."

"Great, I brought it with me."

Isaac looked at her in surprise. Surprise that quickly turned to suspicion, but Nancy ignored that part. She knew Isaac well enough to know he wouldn't push too far. She told him she'd meet him at his desk and heading back to her own left the potent cup of coffee there with the file on Turner before pulling out the hard drive and NIC from her laptop case.

Isaac turned in his chair when Nancy approached, but before she handed the hardware over she took a peak around the corner to see if Tracy was in her cubicle. It was gratefully empty. Tracy had been a big help the last time, but Nancy didn't want to push her luck. Getting Isaac involved in this was bad enough.

When she turned back it was to find that suspicious look on Isaac's face again. "All right, Nancy Drew. What is this about?"

"Like I said, he burnt his computer." She handed the hard drive over, playing innocent.

With a sigh, Isaac took it, and examined the device. "Come on. We'll have to go upstairs to get anywhere with this."

As they stepped off the elevator one floor up, Nancy was confronted with the sights and sounds of a very busy lab. The room was broken off into various sections by clear windows and low walls but it was easy to tell that there were at least twenty people there, all engaged with one piece of machinery or another. Isaac walked through the center of the room as if he knew where he was going, which confirmed the rumor that this had been his previous department.

Seeing them as they passed by, one guy came out of one of the adjoining lab rooms and called out, "Hey, Isaac. You done with your stress break yet?"

"Haha! Very funny Bill!" Isaac retorted without even stopping. He led her through a door at the back of the room that lead to a hallway, and several more rooms. These had solid metal doors, and warning signs posted on each one.

Reaching out to touch one as they passed by, Nancy was surprised to find it was warm. If she listened closely, she could hear the humming of machinery. Then they turned down another hallway, one that she imagined ran along the outside of the building. Here they passed into another large room, not nearly as big as the first, but still holding just as much machinery. Unlike the first room that seemed almost futuristic in it's design, this one felt rustic and cluttered. Workbenches were pushed to the sides of the room. Each one covered in books, papers, the odd bits of machine parts, and metal and plastic filings.

At the end of the room were drills, and other such pieces of equipment. This was a real workroom, and it more than looked the part. Three guys and one girl surrounded a rather small cube placed on the center table.

"There sure are a lot of people here tonight," Nancy quietly remarked, taking all of it in with an excitement and wonder she hadn't felt in ages.

Isaac just smirked. "This is normal. Night's when they do their best work!"

At the sound of his voice the four techies looked up, smiles creasing all their faces. "Isaac!" The woman greeted first. "What brings you up here?"

"Guys, this is Drew, one of my colleagues from below. Drew. This is Stew, Jacks, Nina, and Tex. The other guys are the computer geeks, but _these_ guys are the true genius here."

"Hah!" The one called Tex exclaimed with a grin. "Don't try to sweet talk us, Isaac. You need something, don't you?"

Shrugging admittance, Isaac stepped up to the table and placed the half burnt hard drive next to the cube. The four took to it like moths to a flame. Moments later, the hard drive was dissected with the cover now being examined under a scope, and the internal disks being integrated into a machine Nancy was fairly certain was some sort of computer.

"Well here's your first problem," Nina stated, motioning for them to look through the lens. Nancy did, although she wasn't sure what she was looking for. "This drive had a micro explosive inside. If I had to guess, I'd say it was a BSW380, like those ADF guys used to use. Definitely out of date."

At the computer, Tex agreed. "Yes, the new acid capsules work much better. Much more data is guaranteed to be corrupted."

Quickly digesting the fact that a miniature bomb had been the cause of the hard drive's destruction, Nancy hopefully questioned, "Than you can recover the files?"

"Much of it, yes. It's an old hard drive, so a lot of files are corrupted. That plus its little blow up would have guaranteed its uselessness five years ago, but now…" He trailed off, pulling out a small flash card from the machine he was on. He passed it over to Jacks who took it to another machine, this one, definitely a computer.

"But," Jack continued with a grin, "Our technology has greatly improved since then."

Something troubled Nancy. "Just how old _is_ this hard drive?"

"Five, six years."

"And the files on it?"

Tex still had much of the information on his machine and answered, "The last one was time stamped from three years ago."

Long before Frank 'died.' Nancy tried not to hide her disappointment. It was still the only lead she had. Pursing her lips with renewed determination, Nancy looked back up to find Isaac practically glaring at her. She'd lied to him. The accusation was plain on his face, but Nancy didn't think she could have done this any other way. Hopefully he'd keep quite about it till she could explain in private.

She looked down at the Network Card in her hand. She was here now, might as well take the chance. "I found this, too. I know it's been modified, but not much else." She handed it over to Nina, who took one look at the NIC and whistled. "What?" Nancy immediate asked.

"It's a Network Card," Nina stated, and beside her Stew took the Card, also looking at it with admiration. Nancy frowned in confusion. Seeing her frown, Nina took the NIC back from Stew and pointing to the welded on deformity, explained, "It's an encryption device specifically designed for Network agents, granting them access to much of the Network's databanks and safe communication between agents."

"The Network," Nancy repeated in shock. "As in the international anti-terrorist agency?"

"Yes. _That_ Network. This card is a little outdated like the hard drive, but there's no doubt about it. Whoever owned this computer was a Spy."


	15. Book 1 Bit 15

"All Right, Drew. I want the truth," Isaac demanded the second they were alone in the elevator.

"The truth is what I'm trying to find out!" she retorted, her mind a whirl with her thoughts. He gave her a rather pointed glare to which she finally relented. "I'm sorry, Isaac. I should have told you. The computer _did_ belong to a friend of mine, but he died a year ago."

"Frank Hardy."

She bit her lip, partly in concern and partly in annoyance. Sometimes she really hated being CIA. "Yes."

He shook his head and opened his mouth to say more, but the elevator doors opened and Nancy stepped back out onto their own floor. Isaac followed after. "Drew. Drew!" He caught her elbow turning her around. "Look, I don't know what you're going through right now, but you've been acting weird all weekend, and now this. I don't mind doing favors for friends, but _real_ friends are honest with each other."

Nancy knew he was searching for more. He, like any good agent would be able to tell she was keeping secrets, but how much could she risk? In the end, it was his underlining statement of friendship that did it. These days, she didn't have many friends, not close ones, not anymore. "I saw him."

"What?" Isaac let her go with a frown of confusion.

"Frank. I saw him. At the prison. In the cell across from Steiner." There. It was out. The only bit of truth she really _had_ had finally come out. Nancy felt her shoulders sag as if the strings that had been keeping her taunt had finally snapped. Looking down, she wondered if Isaac had really meant it, to say that they were friends.

When the silence lengthened past her tolerance, she looked up again. He was sizing her up again, his lips pressed tight as he thought it through. Then, finally, he asked, "So you're chasing a ghost?" She could only nod, and with a sudden grin he stated, "I always did like the unknown. Just promise me one thing, Drew. You'll talk to me. Don't keep so much bottled up inside of you. It's not healthy."

She smiled, relieved. "Okay."

"Oh, and one more thing. Before you go looking for more clues, help me finish this assignment from Fairchild so I can finally go home and sleep!"

Nancy laughed. More relieved than having finally confessed what she knew, was the relief in knowing she had someone here on her side. A true friend. "So, what's this assignment, anyway?"

She wasn't ready to let go of the disks the guys upstairs had given her, and so had slipped them into her pockets. There was time enough to look at them later, and she had promised to help. Isaac talked as they walked back to his cubicle. "We got some new intel earlier. I don't know where from, but my guess, someone made a deal, someone _high up_."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's a list of names. All of who are now considered possible undercover agents."

"From where?" But he only pulled the list up and showed her. "MI6, IIB, CSIS, even SVR are on this list. You saying these people are undercover agents for these Agencies?"

"_Someone_ is saying it. I'm running background checks on all of them to see if I can find any truth to the claim."

"And?" She couldn't believe it.

He shrugged. "Of the ten I've worked up so far, I'd say eight show strong indicators."

Rarely did they get such intel, and from the little mentioned on the list, these people had nothing in common. Only half of them were even here on US soil, not that that made such a difference to the CIA, but it made it very unlikely for their true identities to have suddenly surfaced like this. Isaac was right. _Someone_ had made a deal. Someone with phenomenal intel.

"You know what scares me?" Isaac suddenly asked, looking not at all pleased about the jackpot that was sitting right in front of them. "I don't think this is all of the list."

There were only six more names to go, but even if none of them panned out, it was still more intel than they would have gotten in a year. It was one thing to learn about the secret happenings of the world, it was another to learn who was watching whom. The CIA was in the business of gathering intelligence, but they weren't the only ones. And Agencies hated sharing, for the safety of their own agents, or so the story usually went. And it was true. Knowledge was power, and this knowledge right there before them sitting harmlessly on the screen was pure gold.

A shiver ran up Nancy spine. Contrary to her job, to what she knew was highly valuable information, she had the sudden feeling that this list meant more than it was stating. It was just all kinds of wrong.


	16. Book 1 Bit 16

_Author's Note_: Iee! Have two whole months really gone by already? Ah, yes…well…_cough_ _cough_…sorry 'bout that. I do want to thank the kindly nudges to keep going. At this point I think we can say the experiment failed…utterly…but I'll still be writing this whenever I get the chance. I do so love a good conspiracy, don't you?

x.x.x.x.x

Joe woke with the sun on his face. Squinting his eyes shut against the bright glare he reached over and pulled shut blinds he didn't remember leaving open. Rolling over, he drowsily looked around at everything.

For a brief moment he was living in the past. It was his old room, the room he lived in right up until he'd gotten his own place, which wasn't that long ago. Even now he could smell breakfast, just as it had always greeted him every morning. A minute from now Frank would come in, wondering why Joe hadn't already gotten up, and then pester him till he did.

But a minute came and went and the room stayed silent. It wasn't really his room anymore, anyway. When he'd moved out his mother had turned it into a guest bedroom, decorating it top to bottom with pansies. Probably his Aunt Gertrude's idea, he thought with a wry smirk. His Aunt always had her hand in everything. But even that had changed with time.

Who knew one could find love past your prime? He rolled over again, staring at the white vase sitting atop the dresser, overflowing with fake flowers…and two pears. He frowned at the pears, feeling as out of place as they looked.

With a sigh he flipped onto his back, finding the ceiling a much more familiar sight than anything else in the room. It had been hard when Frank had moved out, harder still when he himself finally made that leap, but no matter how much things had changed, Joe had always known he could come back. He just wished it'd been the same for his brother.

"Okay," he breathed out, talking as much to the ceiling as to himself, "No more living in the past. We need to decided what we're going to do."

"Joe?"

He looked over to see little Kelly in his doorway. "Morning, Kelly."

"Morning," she instantly returned, and stepped into the room as if that had given her permission to do so.

He watched bemused as she fidgeted, stepping back and forth as her eyes wandered everywhere in the room. "Um," he finally said, trying to catch the girl's attention. "I kinda need to change."

This apparently had no meaning to the little girl because she immediately turned back to him and said, "Joe?"

"Yes?" He drawled out.

"I need to tell you something," and she sidestepped a little closer, one hand idly reaching out to touch the edge of the bed, her attention already sidetracked once again.

"Go ahead," he encouraged, wondering what he was supposed to say to get the girl to leave. He'd never had much experience around kids so young before and considering this was Vanessa's little girl, it made him more than a little unsure.

Kelly immediately turned back to him, but her eyes wandered as she recited, "Mom says it's time to get up."

"Ya, thanks. I need to get dressed, and to do that-"

"Joe?" She cut him off, this time her clear blue eyes meeting his.

"Yes?"

"I need to tell you something."

Joe almost sighed with frustration. He sat up, but kept the covers pulled around him. "Yes, Kelly?"

"Breakfast is ready."

Joe's head fell helplessly into his hand as he softly replied, "Thank you, Kelly. Now, can you go tell them I'm coming?"

Much to his shock the girl grinned. "Okay," she agreed, and then shot out of the room at a run.

His lips curling in a smile, Joe quickly got up and shut the door before any other unexpected visitors could come in. Ten minutes later he was freshly showered, shaved, and dressed. He was used to quick mornings, and equally quick thinking. Already he knew what he wanted to do that day.

Nancy had been right when she'd told him to let the precinct deal with his case. He didn't doubt they wouldn't bail him out and clear his name. What he wanted to know was _why_ it had happened at all, and to do that he was going to have to break a few protocols.

"Well, good morning handsome!" Vanessa's warm voice greeted from the dinning room table.

They were all there and well into breakfast, even Joe's partner, Geoff, who'd camped the night out on the couch. Geoff looked down the table at Vanessa and good-naturedly gripped, "You didn't greet _me_ that way!" He nudged Ned beside him, almost knocking the fork from Ned's hand in the process. "Are you going to let you wife just say things like that?"

"Like what?" Ned questioned, clearly confused.

Not wanting a squabble to break out, as unintended as it likely would be, Joe quickly took the vacant seat and remarked, "Geoff, we all know you're as handsome as an orangutan's behind!"

"Joe Hardy!" His mother chastised. "I will not have that kind of talk at my table."

"Sorry, Mom," Joe replied, instantly contrite. But then the smells of bacon, eggs and homemade waffles finally got to him and he started loading up a rather hearty plate.

Vanessa laughed, catching his attention even as he shoved a piece of bacon in his mouth. "What?"

She shook he head, mirth still creasing her eyes. "When you didn't show for breakfast we were all concerned, but I see now the Joe Hardy I always knew and loved is still here."

He chewed a little slower after that. He hadn't seen Vanessa in a long _long_ time, and it was hard to tell her that he had changed, he really had. He looked across the table to where Ned and Kelly sat, each of them more concerned with their food than the conversation. While Vanessa may not have realized it, she'd changed, too. Then, to his surprise Ned looked up and with serious eyes asked, "What's your first step going to be?"

Joe had to hide a smile as Vanessa reached across her daughter to whack her husband even while Joe's mom gave the man a vicious glare. "What?" Ned demanded, clearly confused again.

Finally Joe cleared his throat, and told him, "The best place to start is always the scene of the crime."

Geoff practically choked on the orange juice he'd been drinking. "Joe, that's in Pennsylvania!"

"Exactly."

He looked disgruntled for a second, but then brightly remarked, "Good thing I'm taking the day off!"

Joe couldn't help but smile. He was lucky to have such a good friend in his partner. Then his father put a hand on his arm, saying seriously, "Joe. Be careful. Too many things about all this aren't right."

"Don't worry, Dad. I'll be careful."

But he could see it in his parent's eyes. They didn't want to loose another son.

Across the table, Kelly was trying to figure out a way to keep her bacon strip on her fork instead of just picking it up with her fingers. In the small lull, she looked up and suddenly questioned, "Where's Frank?"

Joe was shocked to hear the little girl say his brother's name. The only time the two had met was shortly after Kelly had been born. Vanessa and Ned both looked stricken, Vanessa quickly saying to the group, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," Joe automatically replied, as hurt to see Vanessa distressed as to be reminded so openly of a brother forever gone. Kelly for her part realized she'd done something wrong but didn't understand what and putting her hands in her lap quickly forgot about the piece of bacon altogether.

Suddenly Joe wasn't hungry anymore. "Ready to go, Geoff?"

"Yep." He quickly stood, downing the last of his juice and shoving another slice of toast in his mouth as he made to follow Joe out.

"Joe," Joe's mother called before he could leave.

He turned to her with a grin. "I'll call you later, Mom." And then left before anyone could say anything else to stall him. He had to focus on the problem at hand if he was going to figure out what was _really_ going on.

Joe spent most of the morning letting Geoff do the talking. After all, Joe wasn't officially on the case, but in the end, the two found nothing more than they had expected to. The only real surprise was to discover that the alleged 'hit and run' had actually happened. But as for the 'witness' or the FBI's involvement, that all seemed to be fabricated. The sheriff who made the initial report seemed surprised to even see them there at all. Truth was, the hit and run wasn't much of a _run_ and the local cops had already picked up the man responsible.

When Geoff called the Chief it was to discover that the Feds had already cleared Joe of the charges, explaining the problem as a clerical mix-up.

"The Chief wants us back ASAP," Geoff stated, sitting down at a table just outside a café in the small city's 'downtown district,' which was really just a single street on a single block.

Not bothering to respond, Joe took another sip of the flavored coffee the café was apparently known for. The taste went unnoticed as he stared out across the street, thinking. The whole morning he'd half expected to see someone tailing them, but Joe hadn't seen even one suspicious person their whole time here.

"Hey, Joe, did you hear me?"

Looking over at his partner Joe questioned, "Why here? Why pick such a small town? If they wanted their case to hold up, at least more than a _day_, then why not pick some large city, like Philadelphia?" Geoff didn't have a ready answer, and then Joe had another thought. "When was the report filed on the hit and run?"

Geoff didn't have that in his notes and had to call the sheriff's office to find out. After, he flipped his phone shut and stated, "It wasn't till yesterday _evening_."

"But they knew about it before then. They must have been listening to the police band chatter."

"Out here?" Geoff scuffed, but his expression was one of seriousness.

"More than that," Joe stated, "Agent Fuller knew we'd debunked his first accusation before Stewart had a chance to tell him."

Geoff shook his head. "He must have had the second warrant ready. It's not like there was any _real_ proof to either of them, anyway."

"No," Joe refuted, sure now. "They heard someone was going for my Dad's security tapes. That was when they had to come up with a second cause for an arrest. They were short on time, so they picked the very next thing that came up."

"From way out here?" Geoff had an eyebrow raised, like he couldn't fathom a conspiracy this intricate.

"Yes."

Sighing, Geoff reached over and finished Joe's coffee for him, grimacing slightly at the taste. "Well, come on then. The Chief said we've got to get back, so-"

"I'm not going back to work, Geoff. Not yet." Once again Joe was staring across the street, his mind a whirl with possibilities.

"Okay," Geoff drawled out. "So what are we doing next? I mean, the charges have been dropped, which we knew they would be, but I don't see what more we _can_ do. The Chief's gotta lot of pull, he'll find out what the Fed's were after, I'm sure of it. At the very least, they're not likely to bug you again."

Geoff was a great partner. As a police officer he was top notch. The chief had pulled them both aside and expressed a real interest in their careers, saying they'd make detective soon if they kept up the good work. They'd been in a few shootouts, worked part time with SWAT, and gotten involved in the rare case of 'Hardy trouble' as Joe's friends liked to call it. Wrong place wrong time, kind of stuff.

But Geoff had never been in the situations Joe had as a teenager. He'd never come face to face with organized terrorists. Most assumed Joe lived in the shadow of his father's legendary detective work, but there were still many out there who knew just how involved Joe and his brother had been in the happenings of the world. Joe knew _exactly_ what a trained group could do. And with current technology, it was becoming easier for them each day.

The one question that still bugged Joe was why. Why him? Why now? Or more to the point, what was it all for? They had searched his apartment, searched his car. His first idea that they were looking for something came shooting back to him, and his instincts told him he should go see if he could figure out what, but another problem bugged him.

Joe stood up, fishing his wallet out to pay the bill. "Lets go. I want to talk to the judge who signed the warrants."

"For the record, I think that's a bad idea, but it's your call."

Grinning, Joe good-naturedly remarked, "Of course it's a bad idea, it's _my_ idea."

Geoff gruffly huffed in agreement, but quickly followed after.

The drive back gave them time to track down the judge, which took almost as long. Near the end of countless transfers, and constantly being put on hold, Joe was starting to think that judge's signature on the warrants might have been fabricated, too. Very unlike the FBI, even with 'clerical mix-ups.' But Joe no longer believed Agent Fuller was FBI, no matter how legit his credentials seemed to be.

Eventually, they discovered Judge Larsen had called in sick with the flu. "I bet," Joe grumbled, and then sweet-talked the Judge's assistant into giving Joe the Judge's home address. When Geoff pulled the car up in front of the house, Joe was completely on guard.

Either the Judge was in on this, whatever _this_ was, or he was being used, Joe was sure of it, but as he carefully examined the street he saw nothing out of place. The street was completely deserted, not a single person in sight. Somehow this made Joe more nervous than before, but he still got out of the car, and with another glance around, made his way up to the front door.

Geoff caught up to him as Joe knocked, and a minute later Judge Larsen himself answered, looking tired and worn, but certainly not 'under the weather.' "Your honor," Joe began, "I'm Joe-"

"I know who you are Officer Hardy," Judge Larsen interrupted with a gruff voice.

"And you're not sick with the flu," Joe boldly countered. He wasn't willing to let this man just close the door with a simple 'go away, don't bother me.'

Larsen seemed to be considering Joe's determined expression with some interest. A minute later the Judge stepped back opening the door wider to invite them in. "You might as well come in. Tea anyone?"

Both Joe and Geoff politely declined, following the Judge into his home where he led them to a rather formal looking sitting room. Now that he'd made it inside, Joe wondered how best to ask what he wanted to most. The Judge preempted him, saying as he bade them sit, "I knew your father, back when I was a District Attorney. And knowing him, I knew you would come. Not to mention he gave me a call this morning. Practically chewed my head off." But Larsen chuckled, humored rather than annoyed.

Then Larsen leaned forward, seriously looking Joe in the eyes as he said, "I really don't know what I can tell you."

Geoff immediately replied, "How about why you would sign false warrants against a cop? Your Honor."

Larsen sighed, leaning back again. "Yes, that. Can't say I had much choice in the matter. They said it was a matter of National Security. Wouldn't give me many details. But they assured me the matter wouldn't have any lasting effect on your record."

"And you believed them?" Geoff exclaimed, at the same time Joe repeated, "A matter of National Security? What do the Feds have to do with National Security?"

Larsen shook his head. "They weren't FBI. They were Secret Service."

Joe was floored. "What would the Secret Service want from me?"

"Whatever it was, they either have it, or they were wrong, and they're rarely wrong, son."


	17. Book 1 Bit 17

By the end of the day Nancy had had five cups of Brent's special coffee, which was four cups too many. She had a buzz from the caffeine rush, and she was sure the fallout would be the equivalent of a severe hangover, but at least she was still awake. Brent had been rather irritated to find his coffee stash raided, but after several of their peers complimented him on his unique taste, he mellowed out. And then suddenly the office was too busy for him to worry about it.

Word had gotten back pretty quickly that the operation to grab Turner had been a bust, and with serious repercussions. Their only saving grace was that the intelligence had been good, but Turner had managed to escape undetected, leaving a bomb in his wake. The hitman was still loose on US soil, and they were right back to square one.

Nancy sighed, wishing she were at Langley handling the case herself. Perhaps that was why she had such a hard time with this job. They saw all the information that filtered through here, but other than the occasional interview, nearly all the hands-on detective work was done elsewhere.

Right now, it was her job to sort out everything the think-tank downstairs was spitting out. Turner was still a priority alert, but considering they didn't even know if he was here to trade or for a mark, it left a wide-open area of uncertainty. The annual session of the United Nations General Assembly was coming up, not to mention they were nearing the Senate Elections, and of course, the President was expected to make a rather public visit to LA in just two weeks. Any one of these things was cause for concern, and in her department's case, a lot of overtime.

It didn't make the day any easier with the two small flash cards burning a hole in her pocket, or the knowledge that Joe was out trying to solve a mystery of his own. In a way she felt guilty for not being out there with him. Wasn't it just last night that she'd told herself she had to worry first about the people still here? It was only small relief when Vanessa called to say his suspension had been revoked.

"Did he find out who was behind it?" Nancy asked, holding the phone close and trying to talk as quietly as possible. A glance over her shoulder showed Brent thoroughly engrossed in his screen, but it was impossible to say for sure.

"No," Vanessa said, sounding tired. "He called a bit ago, but he got all cryptic on me."

"I'll call him later and see if there's anything I can do."

There was a pause and then suddenly Ned as on the phone. "Hey, Nan."

"Hey, Ned," Nancy returned, raising an eyebrow in question.

In the background she could hear Vanessa arguing for the phone back, but Ned curtly stated, "Vanessa, I'm on the phone." And then into the receiver, "Nan, I know you don't have a lot of time, but I need to come see you."

"Ah...okay. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," he immediately replied, but Nancy had known him long enough to know _something_ was bothering him. "I'll swing by your place tonight."

"Sure," she said, frowning a little. She gave him directions and he hung up before Vanessa could get the phone back. Flipping her phone shut Nancy stared at her screen for a moment, unsure what could be bothering Ned, aside from _everything_ that was going on right now. Which she still had no clue what that really was.

Pulling out the disks, she knew she wouldn't be able to hold her curiosity back much longer. Here was a clue. A Clue to a _real_ mystery. It was more than just personal to her, it was _right here_ waiting for her to solve, not just to file and send somewhere else.

Later, when she thought about things and realized how unethical it was for her to work on something personal while on the clock, she would blame it on the coffee. Now, all she knew was that there was only an hour of work left, and she couldn't wait any longer.

Nancy casually looked over her shoulder. Brent hadn't moved from his earlier position, and the cubical walls were high enough to block what she was doing from prying eyes. Tilting the screen and readjusting her chair, Nancy angled herself so that she'd have at least a two second warning of anyone coming down the aisle. Then, pulling the disks from her pocket, she slipped one into her flash drive.

When the techies upstairs had said they could save some of the files from the burnt hard drive, they'd actually meant quite a few. It was enough to fill almost two gigs of memory, which, for the age of the hard drive was quite a feat.

But as she pulled up each file she quickly realized they were nothing more schoolwork papers. And she spent the better part of an hour pulling every single one up and skimming them just to be sure. Something inside her insisted there had to be more to it. There was a reason the hard drive had been fried. None of the files were simple txt files, but included imbedded pictures that must have had the highest resolution possible. She pulled up the most recent of the files, a paper on the Environmental Uses of Steam in Cogeneration, and zoomed in on a picture the caption stated was from one of the Consolidated Edison Plants.

Zooming in and out she visually checked every inch of the picture, then separating it from the original file, she ran it through a few programs to try and see if there was anything embedded in the file that couldn't be seen by the regular eye. Failing that, she pulled all the pictures from the txt file and ran every one of them through the same filters. Each one came out squeaky clean. If she listened to her programs this was nothing more than a homework assignment, but gut was saying something different, and didn't she have to learn to follow her hunches again?

Not ready to give up, she pulled the first picture up again and zoomed in as far as she could. She'd check it pixel by pixel if she had to. There was a reason he'd used such high resolution for a simple homework assignment. Perhaps there was a micro message somewhere in the picture.

Nancy much have been leaning forward, mere inches from her screen, when Brent inquired, "Have you already looked for an embedded layer?"

She jerked back in her seat, hitting him in the chin with her head. "Brent! What are you doing?"

"Asking you a simple question," he replied tartly as he rubbed his chin. He'd been standing over her looking at the screen for who knew how long. Waving at hand at the screen in annoyance, he repeated, "Did you already look for an embedded layer?"

"Yes, of course I did. I ran it through every filter I could think of," she told him, equally annoyed. In part because she was frustrated, and in part because he'd caught her looking at the files to begin with.

"Go back to the original file," he ordered.

She hesitated, as much because of his condescending attitude as because she was frantically trying to think of an excuse or reason for the file to be on her screen in the first place. With how heavy their workload was lately, he might not even know it wasn't work related. Chancing it, she pulled up the file in question.

He stared at it, as he often stared at his own screen. Then he hummed, and she sat up with a glimmer of excitement. She knew that hum. "Yes, I see now," he murmured. "It's a rather simple encryption, although I compliment the whole hidden in plain sight aspect."

"What? Where?" She stared at the file, but all she saw was a homework assignment. She'd had the course in basic code breaking, and had excelled at it, but still all she saw was a homework assignment.

Brent for his part looked at him in complete surprise. "You don't see it? Oh, well, the title's the primer, and, here...move over." He practically pushed her to the side as he took over her keyboard.

Now she was really annoyed. "Brent, what do you-"

He cut her off with an impatient glare. "It'd take to long to try this by hand. I've an encryption program that should do the trick. I'm moving it over to your system." He pulled the program up as soon as it transferred and entered the text into the waiting screens.

Nancy held her breath. She wanted to know what was really in the files, but she didn't want Brent to see it. Still, there was no stopping it now. But a moment later the encryption came up with something more akin to gobbledy-goop than actual words and Brent hummed again. His brows furled together as if confused by something.

Taking an unconscious breath of relief, Nancy was about to tell him it was a good idea, but they'd have to try again tomorrow, only he didn't give her the chance.

"Ah yes. How foolish of me, this is a scientific paper."

As if that made any more sense! Nancy was determined now to distract Brent away from her computer, but as her coworker changed the parameters of the encryption program, a new message came up on the screen, and all of her previous thoughts were forgotten.

It wasn't very long, barely two sentences before a string of nonsense followed, but the message was unmistakable.

**Echelon caught up with you. You're being followed.**

"Huh."

It wasn't much of an expression, but coming from Brent it was dangerous. She desperately wanted to find out if the other files contained equally disturbing messages as well, but there was no way she was going to let Brent see them, especially not after a bomb like this one. She was going to be lucky if she came away with a beating once Fairchild found out she'd even been doing this.

"Thanks Brent for the help, but I'm going to have to pick this up later," she stated, forcefully pushing her way back in front of her own computer. With calmer hands than she'd have thought possible she began closing the files again.

To her surprise, Brent didn't push the issue, but let out a huge yawn. "Yes, well, it is late."

Shocked, Nancy looked at the clock and almost swore. "I forgot about Ned!" Frantic, she pulled the flash card out, then at the last second grabbed another spare and moved the encryption program over. With that she could pull the files up on her laptop, away from prying eyes. Closing everything down in a hurry, she collected her things, and giving Brent an all too sweet smile rushed away. She'd deal with the fallout of her unethical use of work time later. Right now she just hoped Ned hadn't gotten there yet.

But as she waited for the elevator to let her off in the garage, she couldn't help but wonder about the cryptic message they had found. It did a lot to support the theory that Frank had been working for some agency, the Network or another one. But to mention ECHELON at all had her head spinning.

And it had to be _the_ ECHELON the message had been referring to. An analysis network that intercepts various kinds of signals looking for specific words or strings of words that often gave strong leads in helping them keep the country safe. Hits on ECHELON generally came to the CIA via the NSA, one of several agencies across the world that oversaw ECHELON.

What disturbed Nancy more was that whoever wrote the message -and it was hard to believe it could be anyone other than Frank, not only had intel on the ECHELON results, but had been warning someone _against_ it. She had to find out who that message was intended for.


	18. Book 1 Bit 18

When Nancy pulled into her driveway she could see Ned sitting on the edge of her porch. He got up as she got out of her car. "I hope you haven't been waiting long," she said, suppressing her guilt.

"It's okay. Working for the government I'm sure you're on call twenty-four seven."

That wasn't the case tonight, but Nancy didn't bother to correct him. Instead she unlocked the door and bid him enter. Now that she was home, she was desperate to get out of her work clothes. Their office had a rather lax dress code next to some departments, but one was still expected to look the part, and it was nothing compared to a good old fashion pair of jeans. "Do you mind if I change first?"

"No. Go right ahead. Honestly, Nan. You look like Hell," he stated, his face scrunching slightly with worry.

"Couldn't sleep last night," she replied with a shrug and then disappeared upstairs, saying over her shoulder, "just make yourself at home, Ned." Thanks to the heavy doses of coffee, she didn't _feel_ tired, but a look in the mirror showed what Ned was referring too. Dark circles had formed under her eyes and the quick makeup job she'd done so many hours ago was faded and patchy. Washing her face with cold water did as much to revive her as slipping into more comfortable clothes.

Descending the stairs, she grabbed her discarded bag and walking into the kitchen found Ned busily making a fresh pot of coffee. "Hope you don't mind," he said, looking up.

She shook her head, and said with a grin, "But I think I'll pass." She'd had more than enough of coffee. She put the bag down and pulling out her laptop began installing Brent's encryption program. She needed to know if the other files had any messages hidden in them. Even if they did, she doubted they'd give her anything obvious, but they might have more clues for her to follow.

"Nancy?"

She looked up to find Ned looking at her with worry again. Realizing that her tired brain had already gotten caught up in the one thing she _really_ wanted to do, Nancy pushed the laptop away and turned to give her friend her complete attention. "I'm sorry, Ned. I know you wanted to talk about something."

He sat down at the table with his coffee but he didn't say anything right away. His eyes darted to her laptop and with a small sigh, he asked, "Have you had any leads?"

Now he really had Nancy's attention. Nancy had known Ned half her life, but even if she hadn't, she'd be able to see something was really troubling the man. "Ned, what's wrong?"

"No, I'm serious, have you had any leads to Frank's whereabouts?" He pushed, and she suddenly didn't doubt that he _was_ serious.

"Nothing that tells me where he is now, no."

"But?"

"But," she drawled out, wondering just what could be bothering her friend so much. Was it possible he'd known Frank better than she thought? The two had barely had any occasion to get to spend time with each other, and when they did, Ned had been the jealous boyfriend. Not that there was anything going on between her and Frank, not that there had really ever been a _chance_ for there to be. But these messages had to have been going to _someone_. She shook her head, throwing off her own paranoia. She was just tired. "I did find out some things about Frank that I don't think he told anyone about," she finally told him.

He just waited for her to continue and she motioned to the computer, explaining, "He was passing messages, encoded messages. I don't know who to, yet, or even why, but I think he was working for an agency."

"What, like you?"

"Not like me. If he was an agent it was undercover. There was a device the Network uses among his old things. They're an international anti-terrorist group. His might have been working for them." But Nancy wasn't so convinced of that herself. Something just didn't feel right about it.

Nodding, Ned took all that in, his face more serious than Nancy had ever seen it. "So, is it dangerous?"

"What?" she asked momentarily confused.

"To keep looking for him. Is it going to be dangerous?"

"It might be." She honestly hadn't even considered the possibility. "But I think it's worth the risk to find out what's really going on."

"I'm not saying it's not. I think you _should_ keep looking for Frank. It's just…" He broke off with a sigh of frustration. Now the truth was finally going to come out. The _real_ reason Ned had wanted to talk. "It's just this," he said, leaning forward.

"Vanessa and I have talked a lot, about everything." He paused, looking like he was trying to figure out how he wanted to phrase his next words. "Nancy, when we were kids, you did some amazing things. No matter where we were, or what was going on, you saw things no one else knew where even there. And you solved a lot of mysteries, and prevented a lot of crimes. And, were…amazing! But while I know I was there for some of it, I was never really involved. I used to think I could protect you from everything, but I eventually realized I couldn't because I didn't understand half of what was going on. You did your thing and then explained it when everything was said and done. And that was fine."

Nancy was stunned. Why hadn't Ned ever said anything before? "Ned, I-" But he cut her off, continuing.

"Vanessa on the other hand has gotten involved with what the Hardys were up to a number of times. She told me she's even been shot at. When Joe called today to give us the news he wouldn't tell her everything that happened. Only said he had to make a call to an old friend, nothing else. Vanessa's not used to being kept out of the loop, and the whole situation is weird. That, combined with what you're doing to find Frank…" he trailed off slightly, then blunted stated, "We were supposed to head back home tomorrow, but she wants to take a few more days."

"And you don't think it's a good idea," Nancy guessed, finally understanding just where it was he was going with all this. He was still the same Ned. Still so protective over the ones he cared about. It was just odd to see it from the outside for once.

Guilty, he looked away, then back again, saying firmly, "I have a family now. If this is going to get dangerous, I don't want Vanessa or Kelly involved. Especially since Vanessa's pregnant."

Nancy wished she could say they weren't at any risk, but if there was one thing her past had taught her, it was that there were no guarantees. Taking in Ned's serious face, Nancy couldn't help but smile. She remembered why it was she'd been so fond of him before. "I think it's wonderful how much you love your family. Vanessa's lucky to have you. You guys _should_ head back. There's no guarantee that I'll solve this in a few days, anyway. You guys can't just hang around here forever."

"I don't want to be kept out of the loop, either, Nancy Drew-"

"But I can keep you guys up to date just as easily over the phone," she finished for him, giving him a reassuring smile. But unconsciously her mind thought about the hidden warning about ECHELON. Perhaps over the phone _wasn't_ the best way, but she kept her mouth shut, not wanting to worry Ned further.

He sighed and leaned back with a wry smile. "Now I just have to convince Vanessa. She's more stubborn than you ever were!"

Nancy laughed, promising to help. They talked a bit longer, their conversation turning to more personal things. Things only ex's who'd stayed friends could comfortably talk about. It was a soothing reminder to Nancy that while life had moved on, the friendships she'd made hadn't disappeared.

By the time Ned made his departure, Nancy was relaxed enough that if she lay down she'd sleep for a day. And she seriously contemplated doing exactly that. The files would still be there in the morning, but as she cleaned the coffee pot so it'd be ready in the morning, she knew whatever comfort Ned's presence had brought, it wasn't enough to override her need to know.

It _couldn't_ wait till morning. As tired as she was, she knew she wouldn't sleep if she tried to leave it alone. So instead, she grabbed a notepad and pen and made herself comfortable at the table. They lived in a technological world, but she still preferred to write things by hand. It helped her try and get a feel for the clues.

Running all the files through Brent's program produced eight more hidden messages. Most of the files were either actual homework assignments, or they had a different encryption, but judging from the dates of the messages, Nancy guessed it was the prior.

The nine messages in total spanned just less than four years, from halfway through Frank's Second year at University up until three years ago. As she guessed, they didn't make much sense, but putting them in chronological order, she hoped she might see a pattern.

**Thank you for the heads up.**

**Everything runs in multiples of three. **

**Negative on the deal. I repeat, do not proceed. **

**Is the glass box still available?**

**Where and when?**

**Expect the shoe soon.**

**Package received.**

**Remember Sputnik. **

**Echelon caught up with you. You're being followed.**

Staring at her notepad, Nancy felt like she was reading one side of a conversation, rather than single messages sent out. There was another half to this, she was sure of it. And if she could find out who these messages were meant for, she was sure she'd find it. What troubled her was that these were several years old. Frank had been a perpetual student. What had happened to his last computer?

It was time for her to look into what had been going on in his life at the time of his death. Perhaps talk to his old collage buddies, do an in depth background search, just as she would if she hadn't known him. But all of that really _would_ have to wait for morning.

Shutting things down, she made her way upstairs. She only had a few hours before her alarm would go off, but she wasn't sure she'd sleep even then. Much to her surprise, the moment Nancy's head touched her pillow she was out like a light.


	19. Book 1 Bit 19

When Nancy woke up the next morning, her head was pounding so hard she was sure it was going to explode. The young CIA operative got up anyway. This wasn't the first time she'd gone to work with little to no sleep, nor would it be the last. And calling in required a doctor's note or your boss' permission, neither of which was worth the bother.

Getting ready and collecting her things, Nancy made herself a fresh cup of coffee, but practically had to force herself to drink it. Frowning, Nancy wondered if Brent's coffee had altered her taste for her normal wake-up brew. Not only did the coffee suddenly taste awful, it did nothing to relieve the headache. Taking a couple painkillers instead, Nancy finally felt she was ready for work.

She decided to leave the files from Frank's computer at home, but pocketed the sheet of notes she'd taken. She'd need the dates to compare to his history. She wasn't sure when she'd get a chance to do a proper search, but Nancy knew she'd find a way to squeeze it in, and hopefully without Brent's notice this time.

The whole way into work she fretted about what Brent would tell Fairchild. She wasn't anticipating another lecture, but if that was all that happened she'd count herself lucky. One didn't use Company equipment for personal business, after all. It was an unspoken rule that everyone knew and followed.

As she approached her cubical, she wasn't surprised to see Brent already at his desk. Most believed he was a complete insomniac. "Morning, Brent," Nancy calmly greeted. There was always a chance the man hadn't said anything to their boss. He might have even thought her bit of research was relevant to a current case. If he hadn't said anything, Nancy wasn't about to remind him about it.

As usual, he didn't bother to return the greeting. He did however look at her briefly over his shoulder, and then suddenly told her, "I made a coffee donation can." He motioned to where it sat on the edge of his desk. It wasn't much more than a coffee tin with a slit in the top, but Brent seemed rather pleased with it, and stated, "If people are going to be drinking my coffee, then they're going to have to help with the cost. It's not cheap, you know."

With the headache Nancy had, she was ready to forgo coffee altogether, but remarked anyway, "That's nice."

He didn't say anything more, so she turned to her screen and got set up for another long day. It was like most days, _busy_, but on the plus side, Fairchild hadn't called her to his office once. By the time early afternoon rolled around, Nancy was beginning to think she'd had a bit of luck, and Brent _hadn't_ told on her. For the first time that day she started to relax.

"Hey, Nancy," Isaac said, his bright smile interrupting her thoughts.

She looked up as he leaned against the edge of the cubical wall. "Hey."

"Want to get a bite to eat?"

Boy did she ever, but before she could reply, Brent stood up and turned his screen off. Knowing an opportunity when she saw it, Nancy conversationally questioned, "Going to lunch, Brent?"

"Yes." Then he tapped his coffee can, saying to Isaac, "Don't forget to make a donation, Isaac. I know you opened the first bag."

Isaac just grinned, exclaiming, "What's a cup of coffee between friends?" Brent just stared at him, his face as emotionless as ever. With a dramatic sigh, Isaac pulled out a five-dollar bill and added it to the can. Then he flopped down in Brent's now vacant chair and gripped as soon as their coworker was out of earshot, "That man has _got_ to get a life!"

Nancy would have agreed, but she'd only have about forty minutes before Brent came back to work and wanted to get going right away.

"So, Nancy? Lunch? Food? Sustenance?" Isaac inquired behind her.

"I can't, Isaac," she told him, pulling out her sheet of notes even as she pulled up the case file on Frank's murder. Even if all she got right now were more notes, she'd be able to piece it all together later.

She felt Isaac lean over her shoulder and half turned to him. "I'm sorry, Isaac. I've just really got to do this."

His eyes scanned over the screen and took in everything that she'd written down, his eyes widening slightly as he read over the 'messages.' The man looked at Nancy with a slightly worried expression, but said, "No, I get it." Then, a moment later, added, "who needs food anyway? How can I help?"

Giving him a truly genuine smile, Nancy told him, "Focus on his time at University. I need names and contact information for all his roommates, close friends, mentors. Look especially for any trips or visits he might have had that correspond to any of the dates."

"Didn't you know this guy?" Isaac questioned even as he flipped the chair around and turned Brent's computer screen back on.

The question went straight to the heart of her fears, and feeling the pain of truth, Nancy softly replied, "I thought I did."

Gratefully, Isaac didn't say anything more and Nancy turned to her search with a new gusto. She was going to find Frank, and when she did, they were going to have a long, _long_ talk. They didn't have much time, but with Isaac helping, Nancy was able to upload and copy everything that had been related to Frank's death. She'd go over the details later, but while she still had time she wanted to search a few databases not available outside this office.

She wasn't surprised to find Frank had his own file in the Agency listings. Joe did, too. Considering the encounters they had had with Assassin terrorist group, it wasn't hard to believe. In fact, she'd already read both their files, back when she first got this job, but then it had been more for kicks and giggles and the foolish dare of a rookie. Now she was looking at them in a new light.

She compared every date carefully, but nothing was matching up. Neither had anything been added to the bottom of the file other than a listed date of death. The only real bit of information was near the top where someone had made a comment in regards to the first incident the Hardy Boys had had with the Assassins. It was believed, but not confirmed, that a Network operative had also been involved.

What she really needed to do what access the Network's files and see what _they_ had. Nancy turned to ask if that was something Isaac could do, but spotted Brent coming up the aisle way.

With a tap to Isaac's shoulder for warning, Nancy stood up and grabbing the coffee can, intercepted Brent a foot from the cubicle entrance. "Okay, Brent. Before I donate to this coffee fund, I want to know just how much one bag of coffee _really_ costs, and does it come in multiple flavors?"

Brent stopped short, a little startled by her sudden demands. "Of course it comes in flavors. And it's more than just the cost of the coffee, it's the shipping. This isn't some fancy over the counter coffee, it's _imported_." He moved around her to get to the cubicle. Nancy let him. Isaac wouldn't have needed more than a minute to cover his tracks and indeed was lounging in Brent's chair as if nothing were out of place.

Giving the man a glare, Brent took back his seat and Isaac stepped out of the cubical, playfully whining, "Come on Nancy. _Please_ can we go to lunch, _now_?"

Brent frowned up at them. "You haven't gone yet?"

"You know her, workaholic and all that."

Nancy would have kicked Isaac in the shin if she thought she'd get away with it. Quickly shutting all her incriminating files down and pocketing any notes, she finally consented, "I can grab a quick bite."

"Great! Let's go!" Isaac grabbed her hand, all but pulling her away.

But for all their pretenses, by the time they got outside, food was the farthest thing from their minds. "Here," Isaac said, handing her his notes, then seriously asked, "This friend of yours, Frank, just what was he involved in?"

"I don't know," Nancy honestly told him. "It's possible he was an agent for the Network."

"Ya, except last time I checked, the Network was on _our_ side. And when you saw him, he was in _prison_." Isaac pulled her to a stop, his worried expression even darker than before. "I've been thinking about this a lot, Nancy. Whatever he got himself into, it's dirty."

Nancy instantly objected, pulling away. "He's not a criminal! I know he's not!" She turned and continued down the sidewalk, saying stubbornly, "I know him well enough to know that he would _die_ to protect this country and everything he loves!"

"Are you sure about that?" But Nancy refused to believe differently.

She only relented in part because she knew Isaac was just worried about her. "Look Isaac, I don't know why Frank was in that prison cell, but I'm sure that if I can just find him, it'll all make sense."

Isaac sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets as he sincerely told her, "I just hope he doesn't break your heart."

Nancy didn't reply, and she didn't look at her friend, knowing full well what his expression would be. She couldn't, because the doubt she felt was too strong already, and she needed to believe she _could_ find Frank, if she was going to.


	20. Book 1 Bit 20

_Author's Note_: Well looky here, a Frank scene:P

x.x.x.x.x

He slowly opened his eyes. Various sights, sounds, and sensations prickled at his awareness, but to everything was a soft fuzzy feeling. Drugs. It knew it as surely as he knew he was still alive and breathing.

He'd felt this way before. Many, many times before. It was like being caught in quicksand. The harder you struggled, the harder it was to control what was happening, so instead he waited, forcing his mind to remain completely calm.

Almost idly, he looked around at all the equipment. The room was very much like a hospital room, with him as the only occupant, but he knew that the instruments he saw were for give pain as easily as they were for easing it. Right now he was sure he was in pain, but the drugs kept him from doing much more than acknowledging it. That would change in time.

Looking down, he regarded the padded restraints around his wrists and the lock at his waist, confining him to the bed he was on. An IV ran into his arm while several sensors were pasted to various parts of his body and head. They had him in white scrubs as a patient might be at a clinic, but to him they were no different from the prison clothes he'd been living in. This wasn't the medical wing of Leavenworth, nor of any other prison. He'd been knocked out during his 'transfer,' but he'd been through this before.

Considering his surroundings, it was possible he'd even been _here_ before. The first time they'd interrogated him. He was musing over this likelihood when the door opened and small man in a lab coat walked in. He was likely in his fifties, and what hair he had left had turned dark silver.

The man smiled. It was a fake smile, an oily smile that slipped away as quickly as it had come. "How are you feeling, Frank?" The man asked, looking at a set of monitors and a digital readout just out of sight.

"Thirsty," the answer came without thought. That was what the drugs did. He already knew this and so didn't panic. His mind would have very little to do with the things he said, but no amount of drugs could sway instinct. That was why he'd preconditioned himself, back before the first time. If they thought time in prison would dull his instincts, they couldn't have been more wrong. Unless they wanted something else.

As his mind thought about the possibilities, the man with the oily smile answered his vocalized request. "Perhaps I can get you something to drink in a bit, Frank. Right now you would only throw it back up."

Once the man had said it, he could feel his stomach turning, but like the phantom pain he couldn't pin down, it was but a small point on his sense of awareness.

Then the door opened again and two men walked in. He knew them both. The one had played the part of his lawyer at one point, and his interrogator at another. The other, a middle-aged man in a suit with rather serious disposition was the same man who'd been talking to Frank the day before.

Neither of the men spoke to him, and after a moment of silence, the 'doctor' looked up, calmly saying, "He's ready. It's an untested set of drugs, but he's responding well. I don't think we'll have a repeat of last night's events."

"Then you can leave now," the red haired man stated. The doctor looked startled, but after a quick look at both men's stony faces, gave them one last oily smile and quickly left.

"Hello, Frank," the older man in the suit finally greeted, looking none too pleased.

"Hello, Kolman," he calmly replied.

Kolman made a small motion to the man with him, saying, "You were interested in Earc last time we talked, so I thought I'd bring him along. We were wondering, Frank, just where it was you got that list from, the one you had hidden in the chip of your brother's car key."

"I made it."

His answer seemed to trouble the man, and Kolman steadily asked, "And just where did you find all that information?"

"Various places."

"Did you get it by using the Glass Box?"

"No."

While the drugs kept him calm and compliant, his instincts kept his answers short and non-descriptive. Kolman was becoming visibly frustrated, and then Earc stepped forward, asking directly, "What did you use to obtain your intel?"

He stared back at the red haired man, saying simply, "my mind."

"Where is the Glass Box?"

"I don't know." It was a conditioned response even the drugs couldn't seem to override. As for as his conscious mind knew, he _didn't_ know where it was.

"But you really do know, don't you, Frank?" Earc asked, his eyes shrewd.

"Yes."

Kolman turned to his companion, saying drolly, "It seems these drugs aren't good enough, either."

"Patience, sir," Earc replied. "Also, there are _other_ things we can do to help it along."

Disgust briefly coloring his face, Kolman stated, "You got carried away the last time. He's useless if he's dead, and finding that device is too important to national security."

He well remembered the 'last time.' The first time he'd been interrogated. He still had the marks, proving just how real and dangerous it had been. Unbidden, a shiver ran through his mind _and_ his body. That first time had been perhaps the longest month of his life, and no matter how steadfast he was, he wasn't keen to relive it. Yet he'd always known it would happen again, one day. Every moment he spent in solitude he'd wondered when they would come. To ask their questions. To know _where_ it was.

"Frank, tell me something," Kolman asked, his face dark with thought and indecision. "Why did you come to us in the first place?"

"I came to see you."

"Yes, you came to see me, specifically, why?"

"You're a good person."

Kolman frowned, finding the answer less than helpful. "What exactly did you hope to achieve by turning yourself in?"

"To make a deal."

"Which we kept. So what do you want in exchange for the Glass Box?"

"Nothing."

"Then why won't you help us?" Kolman pressed.

For a brief moment, he wondered what would come out of his mouth, and internally took a sigh of relief as he calmly replied, "You're can't have it."

A knock at the door interrupted what Kolman was going to say next. Irritated, the man opened the door to find a messenger waiting. Scanning the note, Kolman's face became lined with concern. He excused the messenger and closing the door again turned, demanding, "When did you contact the CIA?"

"Never."

"Then why are a couple of their agents pulling up all your files?"

"I don't know." But internally he guessed, his suspicion confirmed as Earc took the sheet, smiling wryly a moment later.

Amused, Earc asked, "Agent Drew is the person who saw you at Leavenworth, isn't she?"

"Yes."

"It seems moving you wasn't enough to deter her after all." Then he told his superior, "Frank and Agent Drew knew each other as kids, sir."

Kolman was still frowning. "If she finds proof that he's alive this could complicate things."

"_Or_, she might find something we missed."

"It's possible, but don't let things get out of hand, Earc."

For the first time he wished he could control his body, but the drugs kept him locked away. It didn't stop the anger that flooded him, or the slight rise of panic. He didn't care what they did to him, but endangering his family or his friends affected him to his very core.

Perhaps some of his anger _did_ show through, enough at least for Earc to notice. The man's eyes narrowed slightly as he watched, even as he reassured Kolman, "I'll take care of it, sir."

"See that you do," Kolman replied tartly, and then with a shake of his head, he left.

Earc's lips curled slightly in a small, very dangerous smile. "We'll have a long talk when I get back, Frank. Just you and me. With no one watching over our shoulders this time. And after I see what your friend knows, we might even have something _new_ to talk about."

Dread filled him, and once again he struggled for control of his body. He felt a hand twitch, and then, as the other man was turning to leave, he managed to call out, "Earc!"

Turning back with a raise of one eyebrow, the red haired man inquired, "Yes?"

"I know who you are."

For the first time he saw doubt on Earc's face, but the man didn't reply.

When he was alone in the room again, he let his mind wander. The pain felt sharper now. But he wasn't sure if that was because the drugs were starting to wear off, or if it was purely internal.


	21. Book 1 Bit 21

_Author's Note_: I want to give a big thank you to everyone reading this fic. It's not easy to stick with something like this. I'd also like to give a huge thanks to the constant support of the reviewers:D It's very much appreciated. Writing bits instead of chapters can be annoying, but I seem to be getting more written this way, so hang in there. This fic is also going to be a lot longer than I first realized. Can you believe we're not even on Book 2 yet? Holy monkeys!

Also, this bit will finally explain how Frank 'died.' Something I didn't mean to wait quite so long to do, but there just never seemed like a good spot to put it in. At this point you're all probably saying, "That's right! You never did tell us that!" ;P

Eh, whatever.

x.x.x.x.x

That evening Nancy made a lot of phone calls. The first of which was to Joe, although it ended up being a rather short conversation. He denied any need for concern, and all but hung up on her, saying he had to work late to get caught up again on his paper work.

The second call was to Ned and Vanessa, who were still at the Hardy's. This time they each had a phone and argued openly about whether the couple should stay or go.

"Vanessa," Nancy stated, trying again to convince the woman it'd be okay to leave, "I promise I'll keep you in the loop. I'll call every day, but you guys can't just put you life on hold for this. You're supposed to be on _vacation_."

"Did you talk to Joe?" She demanded.

"I tried to. He's not opening up to me, either."

"Honey," Ned put in, "I'm sure Joe doesn't want, or _need_ us breathing down his back and fretting about him like this."

Vanessa instantly disputed, "I'm not fretting!"

Nancy held back a sigh of frustration, saying, "Vanessa, he's going to be fine. The Feds can be jerks some times. And for whatever reason they had for yanking him about like that, it's going to come out in the end."

"I still think your case and his case are related."

And that seemed to be what was really worrying her. It had Nancy worried too, but of all the government agencies who might be involved in what happened to Frank, she doubted the FBI was one of them. "You might be right," she finally conceded, but quickly added, "But I'm still not telling him till I know more about the truth myself."

Nancy could practically hear Vanessa struggling not to retort on the other end of the line. Then Ned calmly asked, "_Have_ you found out more?"

"A little." She no longer trusted talking about it openly over the phone, and picked her next words carefully. "Nothing that tells me which agency has him, or _why_."

"Which agency?" Vanessa asked, sounding confused.

"Yes. Which agency. He wasn't in prison by accident, Vanessa. I know that now. I just don't know _why_. Look, the truth is, there's not much you guys can do by hanging around." Nancy knew it was the one thing Vanessa would hate hearing the most, but it was also true.

For a while no one said anything, and then after a minute, Ned softly inquired, "Vanessa?"

The woman audibly sighed, replying, "I guess we'll be heading back in the morning, then. But you better keep us updated, Nancy! And don't forget to check up on Joe. It's not like him to clam up like he has!"

Nancy promised she would, on both counts, and then wished them a safe trip before finally hanging up.

Her next set of phone calls were to Frank's old professors and friends from University. She treated each one a little differently, most of the time saying she was an old friend, and other times explaining that she worked for the government. She never had to actually say which branch of government, and only once did someone ask, but she had smoothly diverted the question. Nancy had found from her work experience that the less you said of yourself, the more other people would talk.

Treating this like she would a work assignment, Nancy focused her questions to make up a character profile, writing things down with as unbiased an opinion as was humanly possible. Yet as she examined her notes, she didn't see the characteristics of a stranger.

He worked hard, was top of his class, spent a lot of time doing extra work for the professors. Stayed up late on his computer each night, spent a lot of time on the phone with his brother, but he wasn't unsocial either, and went out on a regular basis. One roommate mentioned a girlfriend, but said she didn't last more than a month, saying that Frank was always polite with all the girls but never wanted to get serious.

And by serious, Nancy had a feeling the guy had meant 'intimate.'

None of them remembered anything out of the ordinary. Strange calls, sudden disappearances, odd behavior. Nothing.

This was her Frank. The same Frank she'd known since she was a teenager. The only things that might be construed as odd was his reluctance for a physical relationship. But as she thought about it, even when he was with Callie, they didn't seem to be 'intimate' past the standard kissing and holding of hands. It could easily be explained that Frank was just a little old fashioned, a true gentleman.

But then, that had been something she'd always admired in Frank, his constant concern for others before himself.

Nancy sighed, crossing her arms as she leaned back into the side of the couch. She had her laptop sitting on her legs, her notes scattered about on the coffee table, and the phone clutched in one hand.

She put the phone down. She was out of people to call.

A comparison of dates hadn't revealed much, either. None of Frank's trips out of state corresponded with the messages. While he'd traveled extensively in high school, and even his freshman year of University, he'd made only a few trips since. To Florida, at the time of Kelly's birth; to Seattle, when his friend Phil was first hired at Blue Wave; to LA when Callie married, and again when she divorced. That trip had been a few weeks as it coincided with the birth of Callie's son, Michael.

Then there was a trip to New Zealand with his brother for vacation, and a trip to England with their father for business. Business that had resulted in a factory burning down and three corrupt businessmen being arrested. Nancy couldn't help but smile. The Hardy brothers were at their best when they were together. Not to mention they were a magnet for trouble. But then, so was she.

Picking up the next set of notes, Nancy's moment of humor died, and she stared with worry at the set of hidden messages.

They didn't tell her much more than that she was missing something. Some part of Frank's life he'd kept hidden so well no one would ever suspect it was even there. There were four keywords among the messages. Glass box, shoe, sputnik, and echelon. Nancy was fairly certain Echelon was in reference to _the_ ECHELON, but the other three stumped her, and no one she talked to had ever heard Frank mention them before.

Googling each one, Nancy came up with a horrendous amount of unhelpful links. Other than a programming reference to open source code, a glass box could mean anything, including the literal translation of a _glass box_. Shoe was even worse, and she gave up looking through links almost immediately. Sputnik was quite the opposite. Other than a couple businesses marketing on the fame of the name, every link dealt with the history of the Sputnik satellite. Nancy read a couple of the articles, thinking that Frank might have actually been referencing the first sputnik when he wrote 'Remember Sputnik.' Sputnik had been the first artificial satellite, made by the Soviet Union, and was considered the beginning of the space era. Reading further, she realized it had done more than that. Aside from being an amazing leap in technology, it had escalated the Cold War, a war that centered on power, who controlled it, and each country trying to advance ahead of the other.

But it didn't do much to explain what Frank had been doing. It did, however, leave Nancy feeling disturbed. "Just what did you get involved with, Frank?" She quietly murmured.

Pushing aside the notes, Nancy pulled up the police file on Frank's death. There wasn't much to it. A case of bad timing some would say. Frank had 'died' in the explosion of a drug lab of a local gang. The explosion had killed six people in total, all but Frank had been a member of the gang, the same gang that Joe was investigating in regards to a homicide earlier that week. A neighbor had seen Frank grabbed by the gang just outside Joe's apartment while Joe had still been at work.

The investigation found that the gang had arranged a hit against Joe, and the kidnapping and consequential death of his brother had been unintentional. A crime of opportunity. The events that led up to the explosion where inconclusive, and theorized to be more of an accident, than intentional, possibly during a skirmish with Frank, or a dispute among the gang members. They had done a thorough investigation, but found no evidence of fowl play outside of the gang involved.

Among the files was the coroner's report, including pictures. Nancy gazed at the half burnt body with a clinical eye. It was easy now that she knew it _wasn't_ Frank, but it so easily _could_ have been Frank, they were so alike. And DNA and dental said it _was _Frank.

It was a very convincing cover-up. Nancy ran a hand through her hair, growing more and more disturbed the more she learned. What she needed was to find out what those messages meant and just who they had been meant for. She wondered if there were more. The computer had been old, outdated. It made sense that a university student would have had a current model.

Checking her notes, and then the police file, she wasn't surprised to find Frank's school computer had been confiscated during the investigation. Everything unrelated to the case had then later been released to the family. Nancy didn't remember any of the stuff being in the basement at the Hardy's, and realized why when she pulled up a copy of the release form. "Joe has it."

It was the closest thing she had to a solid lead, but Nancy was hesitant about asking Joe if she could look through Frank's old stuff. Resolute, Nancy got up and grabbed her keys anyway. She'd just have to figure out what to say when she got there.


	22. Book 1 Bit 22

_Author's Note_: Sorry for the pause there. RL can be very distracting sometimes. :D Thanks again to everyone reading this, you guys are all gems!

x.x.x.x.x

It was just turning dark by the time Nancy reached Joe's place. She'd decided not to call ahead in case he brushed her off again, but when no one answered her knock, she wondered for the first time if he was even home.

He had said he was working late, and then there was the fact that she really didn't know what his social life was like. He could be out at the bar, on a date, at the gym, anything. Nancy pulled her phone out and scrolled down to his name in her contacts list but stopped just short of actually calling him.

She still didn't know what she'd say to him, or how to explain why she wanted to go through Frank's old things in the first place. When he'd asked at his parent's house, she'd told him she'd been reminiscing, and wanted to put some closure to Frank's death, but Nancy didn't think that excuse would work again. Not after everything Joe had just been through.

At the same time, Nancy wasn't willing to just turn and walk away. Not when she had a possible clue to follow. There just _had_ to be something in Frank's old things. At the very least his computer from school might have more encoded massages hidden on it.

That in and of itself would be impossible to explain to Joe without going into full detail, something she wasn't even remotely ready to do. Saying that she thought his brother wasn't really dead would be hard on Joe, telling him that the evidence showed that Frank had been involved in some sort of espionage would break the younger Hardy's heart. Joe would never believe it. Nancy didn't, either, but she knew enough to follow the trail to its end.

It would be better if she didn't have to say anything to Joe at all. And if she could slip in and find what she needed before he got home, than maybe she wouldn't have to. Looking around, Nancy wondered if Joe had a spare key hidden anywhere, but she didn't think Joe was the type. Examining the door, she considered her options. She could see where an electronic lock pick had been used before, presumably by the Feds, when they had searched Joe's apartment.

That thought made her wonder for the first time if perhaps the Feds were looking for the same thing she was, but threw that idea out almost immediately. Frank's things had been put into evidence at the time of his 'death.' More stuff than normally would have been, and she was sure now it wasn't incidental. If it'd been the Feds who'd faked Frank's death, they would have had a chance to search through his things then.

But she did have to thank them for their earlier intrusion. The damage to the keyhole had left the lock easy to pick. It'd been a while since she'd had break into someplace. She was lucky old habits die hard. Retrieving her old lock pick set from her car, Nancy made quick work of the door and unnoticed, let herself in.

The apartment was dark and quiet. She wished she'd thought to bring a flashlight with her, but realized how foolish that really was. No one was here, and she didn't really have to hide.

With a wry grin, Nancy flipped a light on, almost laughing at herself at the twinge of nervousness that suddenly assaulted her stomach. It really _had_ been a long time since she'd last done something like this, but the feeling quickly passed. She didn't have long to find what she needed.

This was actually her first time in Joe's apartment. She'd always met up with him somewhere else. Even when Frank had still been alive and the three of them had gone out together. Partly it was because they had to come from three separate directions, and partly because it hadn't happened often enough. Nancy fully regretted that now.

Still, it hadn't taken her long to find what she was looking for. The box of Frank's things had been accommodatingly sitting in the living room with it's top off. She imagined Joe might have brought it out for the anniversary of Frank's death. With everything that had happened, it was hard for Nancy to believe it had only been a few days ago.

With a sudden sadness swelling in her chest, Nancy sat down on the futon as she pulled the pictures out of the box. Staring at the smiling image of Frank, Nancy brushed a finger along the side of the photo as if the touch could somehow bring her closer to him. He looked so full of life in the pictures, there wasn't one there where he wasn't smiling. He'd always had a soft face, and a friendly expression, even when he was being serious.

With a sigh, Nancy put the photos down. She'd never get anywhere with her search if she kept looking at them. Going through the box, she wasn't surprised to find copies of his homework, especially if he'd continued to use them as a means to pass messages, but it'd take forever to try and copy them onto her computer on the off chance that they did. She was searching the box for any computer disks when she found the scrapbook and pulled it out instead.

Mystified, Nancy carefully turned each page, trying to make sense of the bits and pieces so carefully placed. Looking at it, she knew the collected items covered places from all over the world, but they seemingly had little to nothing in common. She read the few articles that had been included, and thought she recognized a couple of the companies mentioned, ones that had later faced criminal charges. She thought she remembered hearing that the Hardy's had been involved, but she'd have to do some research to be sure.

A small noise suddenly caught her attention and Nancy's head snapped up just as Joe stepped from around the corner, his gun at the ready in front of him. As soon as he realized it was her, Joe put his sidearm away and scowling at her, demanded, "Nancy, just what are you doing in my apartment?"

"I needed to talk to you," she automatically replied. Internally she'd gone cold. She'd really hoped she wouldn't have to actually face Joe, and she still didn't know what exactly she was going to tell him.

"You could have called," he gripped. Joe's face turned stony as his eyes dropped down to the book she was holding. She could see Joe visibly fighting with himself, trying to keep from getting upset, but this only made Nancy worry for real.

Carefully putting the book aside, Nancy stood up, forcing him to look at her instead of Frank's things. "Joe. We're worried about you."

"I'm fine." He turned away from her, pulling his jacket off and walking into the kitchen. She dogged his every step.

"I know you, Joe, and you _not_ fine. I can't imagine what it's like to be harassed by the FBI, but-"

Joe cut her off with a sharp laugh. "It wasn't the FBI, Nancy."

"What?" She asked, startled.

"It wasn't the FBI who framed me," he repeated darkly.

"Who was it? What did you find out?"

"Forget about it. The charges were dropped, won't even show up on my record," Joe said, brushing her off. He opened the fridge and pulling out a beer offered her one, but she shook her head, too preoccupied by her own disturbed thoughts to say anything. Could it be Vanessa was right? Whoever had framed Joe was involved with Frank's supposed death?

"Joe, who was it? Who framed you?"

"Just forget about it, Nancy," Joe repeated, and then popped the cap off his beer before he purposely turned his back on her, walking back to the living room.

Nancy couldn't believe her ears. "The Joe Hardy I know doesn't back away from a mystery! I want to help, Joe."

To her shock, he turned to her with open anger in his eyes. "And what about you, Nancy?"

"What?"

"I know you didn't come here to 'check up on me.' At my parent's house I saw you take a couple of Frank's things, and now here you are going through his stuff. I know you, too, Nancy Drew. So what's going on?"

Nancy couldn't swallow past the knot in her throat. Her mind told her she should just tell him. Joe could help her like no one else could. It wouldn't just be her searching anymore. But the anger in his eyes terrified her. Anger that was only the tip of the pent up emotions Joe had about anything that had to do with his brother.

How much worse would it be if she revealed what she knew? She barely kept her own emotions at bay just thinking about it. "I can't," she whispered, only realizing she'd spoken out loud when Joe turned away with a look of disgust.

"Joe. It's not what you think," she called, chasing after him. "I…" But again she couldn't actually bring herself to say it. I think Frank's alive. And I think the government covered up his death. And I think…I think he might have done something _wrong_. Even her thoughts stumbled over the last part, because her heart refused to believe it.

Turning back around, Joe looked at her expectantly, but after a bit the anger drained from his face, leaving only the remnants of pain reflected in his eyes. "Nancy, please tell me. Do you know what's going on?"

And she could honestly tell him, "No, I don't."

He nodded once, and then taking a long swig of his beer, walked over to the futon, looking down at Frank's things spread across the couch. He bent down and picked up the scrapbook. "Do you know what this is?"

She shook her head, and he softly grinned, saying, "It's a record of all our cases." Then with a sigh he tossed it onto the futon and tiredly questioned, "What were you looking for, Nancy?"

She bit her lip, but then admitted, "Frank's computer."

Joe looked over at her with a frown. "You wouldn't find that in there." He stated, motioning to the box. Nancy realized he was probably right. And then he added, "but it doesn't matter, I wiped it clean so I could use it long ago. He only had homework on it, anyway."

She sank down into a chair, her hopes of finding another clue suddenly dashed to pieces. "Everything gone? Were there any disks or anything?"

He shook his head no, and then demanded again, "Nancy, what were you looking for?"

"I don't know exactly," she told him, her mind silently going over everything that was there and coming up blank. She could still transcribe the paper copies of Frank's work, but it didn't seem encouraging.

Joe's anger was slowly returning and once again Nancy fought with herself, trying to find the courage to tell him Frank was alive, but it never came. "I'm sorry, Joe. I shouldn't have come here."

"Do you know who set me up? I know it _wasn't_ the FBI. According to the judge who signed the warrants, it was the Secret Service, but I'm not even sure that was accurate. They could have been anyone, the CIA even," and his accusation was plain on his face. "All I know is that they were looking for something, too. And when they didn't find it here, they found a way to search my car. I don't know if they ever did find it, but considering they've backed off, I can only assume they did. So I'll ask you one more time, Nancy. What the Hell is going on?"

"I…" Nancy felt lost. Someone had framed Joe just to search to his apartment? It sounded unreal. "I honestly don't know, Joe." But it wasn't an answer he was going to accept, and she finally told him, "I think…maybe…Frank hid something."

"Like what?"

"I don't know."

They both stood there in silence, neither knowing what to say. Nancy felt so glum inside she wanted to cry. What was it Frank had done? Why hadn't he talked to them? Why did he have to leave them? Didn't he know what dying would do to them? Breaking the silence, Nancy quietly asked, "Do you think I could have that beer, now?"

"Sure."


	23. Book 1 Bit 23

_Author's Note_: Ieee! It's been a month exactly since my last bit. I didn't even think I'd get this done tonight, and it's a little short (but juicy!) ta boot! But, alas. Sorry for the sudden stop. My time is maxed out for the next three months, and bits will come slowly, if at all till the New Year, so don't wait up for me, ya?

_Author's Note 2_: Food for thought since it came up in a review. 'Agent' is a generic term used for anyone authorized to act or represent someone else, in the case being questioned, the National Security Agency. This is not to be confused with 'Special Agent,' which is a specific title for people with specific qualifications who are federal investigators (ie, USSS, DOD, DOJ, etc.).

While I can't say I actually know anyone who works for the NSA to ask them directly, from my research I've come to determine that those working for the NSA are often referred to as Agents, Operatives, Employees, and quite often are Analysts. :P

x.x.x.x.x

Everyone always talked about the crime on the streets of New York, but most of it actually happened indoors. Leaning back against the wall, Joe watched the hall of one of New York's more rustic apartment buildings. Everything in this city had history, and it showed, both in the buildings and in the culture of the people. It was a far cry from Bayport where he grew up.

"Did something happen to Mary? What about Ed?" One of the neighbor's asked as she exited her own apartment two doors down and spotted Joe standing there.

Joe shifted slightly as the woman walked over, answering, "I'm sorry to tell you that Mr. and Mrs. Henderson died last night."

"What happened?" She asked again, craning her neck to look around Joe into the open apartment.

"I'm sorry, it's still under investigation," Joe automatically replied, keeping his hands at his side, but ready to step in the woman's way if she actually tried to go in. Most people were just curious, and wanted to _see_, but not touch. "Did you happen to hear, or notice anything out of the ordinary in the last few days?"

She shook her head, saying, "No, nothing. Are we in danger?"

"No, Ma'am, I don't think so," he reassured her. "But an associate of mine might be by later to ask you a few questions if that's all right?"

"Sure, sure. Oh, I was going to the store."

"That fine, it won't be for a while," Joe told her with a forced smile. If he could get out of 'door duty' he'd case the hall himself. Breaking bad news to people was tolerable if it meant he got to _do_ something.

It was something he usually did anyway, often upon request by the detectives. They seemed to think he was good at ferreting out people during interviews. But Joe had an idea the Chief secretly had him on limited duties since Geoff had been asked to help inside and here he was stuck at the door.

The morning wore on. Joe had to deter three more people, and watched with envy as two Officers started to question the neighbors. An irritating itch slowly began to crawl up his spine. He doubted it's be professional of him to try and reach it, so he crossed his arms and was about to rub up against the doorframe when he thought better of it. Word from the preliminary examination of the apartment suggested a murder of passion, possibly a break in, and forensics were still dusting.

To distract himself, Joe rocked on his feet, but it didn't help much. Could this day get any more annoying? The inaction had left him too much time to think and brood. Mostly about the night before and Nancy's unexpected visit. Then something caught his eye and he looked down the hall see someone cross at the intersection.

The man was average height, average features, with now graying hair, and brown eyes. He was one of the most average looking men Joe had ever seen, and normally, no one would ever take a second look at him. But this wasn't a normal man. With barely a pause, the man gave Joe the briefest of nods before vanishing out of sight.

Joe grimly smiled, and turning, stuck his head into the apartment. Detective Jones was closest. "Hey, Steve. Can you get Geoff to watch the door for me? Gotta use the can."

Jones knowingly smirked. Everyone had done door duty at least once in their career. "I got it Joe. Take as long as you need."

Joe grinned. "Thanks, Steve." He slipped off down the hall and quickly made his way to the bottom floor. When he stepped outside he looked for the man he'd seen in the hall. Knowing exactly what he was looking for, it didn't take Joe long to pick him out, and seeing him slip down an alley quickly followed after. The man was waiting for him.

"Got your message."

Grimly smiling, Joe replied, "It's good to see you, Gray Man."

"This isn't a social visit, Joe," The Gray Man stated darkly. "Your message said it was an emergency."

Joe's smile vanished, and just as darkly he replied, "I'm calling in a favor." When the Gray Man didn't reply right away, Joe stated, "I'm sure you've heard about my run in with the FBI?"

"It wasn't the FBI."

The Gray Man had gotten straight to the point. "Do you know who it was?" Joe demanded.

"No, I don't." The answer had been too quick, and they both knew it.

Eyes narrowing, Joe thought about what Nancy had said the night before and asked, "Do you know what they were after? Was it something Frank had left behind?"

To Joe's surprise, humor filled the Gray Man's eyes and a slight smile suddenly graced the man's plain face. Not answering Joe's question, the man said instead, "Would it surprise you to know Frank had been freelancing?"

Shaking his head, Joe refuted, "He wasn't. I know the Network asked him to, just like you did with me. And he turned you down."

"That may be, but he _did_ do work for _someone_."

"Why would you say that?" Joe asked, his gut clenching up at the very idea. After high school and all their messy encounters with the Assassins, the Network, and various other terrorist and counter terrorist groups, they'd had a lot to talk about. Joe had always known he'd wanted to go into law enforcement, but they'd agreed never to become spies without at least telling the other first. So what was Gray Man _really_ suggesting?

The Network Agent looked around the alley even though it was deserted, and turned to his profile was hidden from anyone who might just be 'passing by.' Joe turned with him. Then the Gray Man said, talking in such low tones that Joe had to strain his ears to hear, "Four years ago, Frank sent me a message. It was some intel on a dirty Agent we had. When I asked him where he got his information, he wouldn't tell me. Then two years ago, he sent me another message. Two names. Nothing more."

"Who were they?"

"An NSA Agent, named Trent Craven, and a Lieutenant Colonel Jake Wilson, Air Force, currently stationed at NORAD. At first I thought Frank had sent me the names because they were dirty, too, and he needed help taking them down, but these guys are so squeaky clean they'd pass the glove test a dozen times over. After that, Frank never returned any of my messages."

Joe's eyebrows furled together with confusion. "What do you think it means?"

"I don't know." And then the Grey Man's face darkened again, and with a note of caution, he stated, "I don't know what's going on, who it was that ransacked your place, or what it was they were looking for, but I do know this. When I heard about your trouble and started to look into it myself, I was _immediately_ told to back off."

A chill swept through Joe's body. The Network hadn't always liked it when the Hardy Boys had gotten mixed up in their cases, but they'd always appreciated the help in the end. The Gray Man himself had gone out on a limb time and time again for them. Joe suddenly realized this meeting was most likely even against orders.

But with a flicker of a smile, the Network Agent told him, "I won't be able to help much, but if it gets dire, I'll do what I can."

Joe gave the man a genuine smile. He knew what was really being said, and appreciated the gesture, but he was on his own with this case. "Thanks."

They didn't bother with goodbyes, they never did, and parting words of caution always seemed like a mute point, but they did nod to each other, a symbol of being on equal grounds. And then they separated, each one going in the opposite direction.

Joe tucked his hands in his pockets, thinking. He'd have a look at those two names himself next time he got a chance. Perhaps Frank _had_ been up to something. Freelancing. The thought still felt out of place, but Joe knew one thing. Frank had never done _anything_ that wasn't done _on purpose_.


	24. Book 1 Bit 24

_Author's Note_: It sure has been a while, hasn't it? I still haven't finished my other fanfic project, but thanks to a few persistent people, including Frankette, I've decided to bring this fic back onto the active projects board. I don't know how fast the updates will be, I've got a lot on my plate, but they _will_ be forth coming.

A huge thanks to anyone who reads this. I myself had to spend a day getting caught up again, but I've very excited to be back to writing. This story is one of my favorites and I'm just as anxious as all of you to see it continued.

And, because a few people have asked, and to save you guys from having to hunt through the fic the way I did to get the answers, a few facts that might help you place the characters.

My characterizations generally follow 'The Case Files' series as they were my favorite of the Hardy Boy's books.

Its one year after Frank's 'death.'

Nancy and Frank are currently 26, Joe's 25.

When Frank died he was working on his third Degree (I haven't specifically stated which ones, but at least one was mechanical physics. Now I haven't said which school, but again, because people keep asking, and if it really helps you, in my head he was at Princeton)

Joe went to Collage in Bayport, then a year at the police academy and is currently an Officer in New York. (I recently discovered, as in, _yesterday_, that generally if you have a degree and go through the academy you automatically become a detective. For the sake of this story we'll say that's not true. :P )

Now I guess we get to see how many people actually remember this fic. :P

x.x.x.x.x

Nancy fought to keep her eyes open. Too many nights without enough sleep. The previous night hadn't been any better. Especially after her emotional visit with Joe. Why couldn't she just tell him the truth? Frank was alive.

But even her tired mind knew why she couldn't tell him.

Her mind wandered back to the file she'd read on Frank Hardy and the comment that had been made about a possible connection between the boys and the Network during their first encounter with the terrorist group Assassins. After finding the Network NIC in among Frank's things that connection didn't seem too questionable.

She wondered if Joe knew Frank had worked for the Network. Part of her actually wondered if Joe was a spy himself. Nancy rubbed her eyes trying to make sense of the clues she'd uncovered thus far, but their connections seemed elusive. Even if the Hardy brothers were really spies, it would make no sense for the Network to fake Frank's death and the family not know about it, especially if Joe was one of them. It didn't make any sense for her to find Frank in solitary in prison. And it really didn't make any sense for her to find hidden messages that made him look like a terrorist.

Nancy groaned. The hangover headache from the previous day seemed to have either returned or never really went away. Then something was put down on her desk beside her and Nancy looked at the steaming mug of coffee in disgust.

Turning to look up at Isaac who had brought the caffeinated offering Nancy sourly remarked, "If it's from the 'special stash' then no thanks!"

"It's not, but I did add extra sugar," he told her, encouraging her to drink. "You look like Hell Nancy, and that's not a compliment."

Sighing, Nancy picked up the mug and took a sip. She nearly choked. "How much sugar did you add?" She demanded. It was so sweet she could barely taste the coffee."

Isaac grinned. "Actually, I had Tracy make it." Then, more seriously, he told her, "Nancy, I'm worried about you."

She glanced at Brent, who, like usual, was bent over his desk, sorting papers with one hand while typing with the other. He didn't look like he was paying enough attention to be listening in on their conversation, but Nancy was sure nothing slipped by the genius. Looking back to Isaac she said firmly, "I'm fine. I'm just tired, that's all."

"If you say so. Look, I'm working the weekend shift again so I'm off the next couple days, but if you need to talk, or anything else, just give me a call."

It was odd how comforting his simple offer was to her. Nancy smiled with real appreciation. "Thanks."

Then Brent spoke up, confirming that he really had been listening just as Nancy had suspected. "Until we find a new lead on Turner we might all be working the weekend shift."

Just what Nancy didn't want to hear. Isaac exchanged looks with Nancy, then reassuringly squeezed her shoulder before he left. Nancy turned back to her own work. What had she been working on? That's right, she was sorting through all the various communications surrounding the upcoming United Nations General Assembly looking for anything suspicious. Sometimes profiling potential targets had more success than trying to find the hit man. Not that it was her job to actually do the profiling, just to do the leg work for those who were.

And yet, as serious as the threat might be, Nancy was having the hardest time actually focusing on her task. Sleep deprivation aside, all she wanted to do was search for more clues about Frank. There had to be more. Something that might tell her about who Frank had been in contact with. Was it the Network or someone else? What happened to put him in prison? What did he do?

And that was the hardest part for her to swallow, that Frank might have actually _done_ something to warrant prison. Not Frank. Never.

The phone ringing suddenly yanked her out of her thoughts and trying again to focus her mind, Nancy answered, surprised to hear her boss's voice gruffly order, "Drew. Come to conference room B."

"Yes, sir."

Nancy hung up the phone confused. Why the conference room and not his office? There weren't any meetings going on that she knew of. As she stood up she looked over to the room, but the blinds were closed telling her nothing.

Feeling her spine tingle in alarm, Nancy hurriedly downed the sugary cup of coffee to help her wake up. If she was going to start following her hunches again, then something was up. As a precaution, she pocketed any notes she had made on Frank and locked her computer. That wouldn't stop anyone for long, but if she was about to be reprimanded for the misuse of CIA property than it didn't matter anyway. At least she'd left the disks with the hidden messages on them at home.

Taking a breath to steal herself, Nancy entered the conference room. As she expected, Fairchild didn't look happy. He sat at the far end of the table next to a suit Nancy had never seen before.

"Close the door Drew and come take a seat," Fairchild stated, motioning to the chair opposite him.

She knew she was in trouble, but her tired mind refused to let her worry about it. All that mattered was finding out the truth about Frank. If that meant being reprimanded to do it, then so be it.

As she sat down, the man next to Fairchild glanced up with barely an acknowledgement or a smile in greeting before he went back to flipping through a file. Then, "Miss Drew, my name is Timothy Locke." He showed her his CIA identification out of protocol, but from the way Fairchild was letting the man control the conversation it was obvious he was higher up in the food chain. Probably out of Langley.

Locke had that no nonsense attitude that made him hard to read, but when he finally really looked at Nancy his eyes were intelligent, intense and penetrating. Green eyes coupled with red hair and fair skin plus a name like Timothy Locke put his origins in Ireland. His lack of accent and clear punctuation spoke of speech lessons, but in the CIA, if he'd been in the field, it was almost to be expected. Most CIA operatives knew multiple languages. It was a major contributor to being hired. Nancy herself had learned four.

But there was something more. The man's demeanor was strict, authoritative, and radiated upper management, but his eyes were searching, intuitive, and if Nancy's 'vibes' had anything to say about it, this was about more than just her inappropriate use of work time. She'd expected a reprimand from Fairchild but from someone higher up?

When the red haired agent asked her, "Do you know why you're here?" Nancy felt she could honestly tell him, "No."

Locke steady regarded her, his eyes probing hers, but Nancy held his gaze. Then Fairchild angrily stated, "Drew, the CIA is not here for you to conduct your own personal searches. You have a job to do, and I expect you to do it."

Then Locke interceded, pulling something from his file and placing it before her. "Yesterday you accessed the police files concerning the murder of Frank Hardy. Can you explain this?"

Nancy took a moment before she answered. In part because she hadn't planned for this confrontation and in part because the crime photo that was stapled to the top of the police report in front of her caught at her tired mind with a sudden emotional jerk. This wasn't really Frank. She knew it, but it didn't seem to matter.

She was tired, and that was making her sloppy. Nancy finally looked up from the photo, seeing the anger edging away from her bosses face. Perhaps being emotional might work in her favor. "The anniversary of his death was last week. We were close and I haven't been sleeping. I thought if I read over the report that it might help me find some…closure."

Nancy let the pain show in her eyes where normally she'd do everything she could to hide it, but as she hoped, Fairchild's face softened. Locke's on the other hand didn't change one bit. His green eyes were still probing.

"Why did you enlist the help of your co-worker? What interest does he have in your dead boyfriend?"

Anger flushed Nancy's face, enough to outweigh her sudden fear. The last thing she wanted to do was get Isaac in trouble. "Frank was never my boyfriend. We were close friends, that's all."

"Our records show Mr. Hardy's files were accessed from both your terminal and the one next to you," Locke pushed, suddenly leaning forward, but the news internally relieved Nancy.

"Brent went to lunch, he didn't know I was using his computer."

"Why?"

"I multitask, really well," Nancy sarcastically replied, and then a little more reasonably told him, "I was doing a search to better understand what Frank had been doing in the years previous to his death. I needed two computers so I could find out as much as I could while Brent was still gone."

"You mean, so you wouldn't get caught."

"Yes, so I wouldn't get caught," Nancy exasperatingly admitted. The man never raised his voice, but everything about him was putting her on edge. "Look," and now she risked a glance at her boss, "I know what I did was inappropriate, and I promise it won't happen again, but I just had to know."

"To know what, Miss Drew?"

To know if he really was alive. To know what he'd been doing. To know why Frank was in prison. To know what was really going on. But Nancy couldn't say any of that, so she quietly told them, "To know if my memories of Frank had changed."

To anyone who thought Frank was dead, her confession would be taken as someone still in mourning over a lost friend. Nancy internally held her breath as Locke calculatingly regarded her as if he were judging just how sincere her response had been.

Fairchild took it at face value, gruffly telling her, "This will go in your record, and I expect I will never catch you off task during working hours ever again."

"No, sir."

It was over. She'd been reprimanded and now she was being sent back to work, but Locke stopped her before she could take Fairchild's dismissal. "Miss Drew. We have been reviewing your application to become a field operative."

Confused, Nancy sat back down. Even Fairchild looked at Locke in surprise.

Locke just continued as if this were the sole reason for their meeting. "You have extremely high marks in both the physical and written tests. And aside from this…_incident_, you have an exceptional record."

"I'm sorry?" Nancy questioned with a frown, her mind stumbling over itself as she tried to understand where this had come from.

"I've been authorized to offer you a position. If you accept, you'll be expected at Camp Peary on Monday." He stood up, pulling out a card as he did and handed it to her. "I expect to hear from you soon."

Then, collecting his file, Locke said his goodbyes to them both and left. Nancy found she could only sit there, stunned. She hadn't expected it in the slightest.

"Well Drew," Fairchild remarked, not looking happy in the slightest. "You got your wish."

But if that true, why did the news taste so sour?


	25. Book 1 Bit 25

_Author's Note_: Happy holidays everyone! I always try to do too much this time of year. You, too? Well, to my amazement, this is the longest bit for this fic yet. And quite possibly the most revealing. I had the option of dragging things out or getting on with it. I always prefer the moving forward scenario.

Just a note, research can only take a person so far. Especially when they're writing about classified operations. Needless to say, I am just a lowly fanfic writer who will be taking the liberty of the pen to create her world. If I get some things wrong, my apologies. Correct me if you want to, I love learning. Also, I'm borrowing a terrorist group from another universe. You might recognize them, you might not, but it really doesn't matter. Aside from their profile nothing else will be crossing into this story.

And finally, I want to give a huge thanks to everyone reading this. I know I'm a slow writer and all too often disappear for uncertain lengths of time. Regardless, here you are. You people rock!

x.x.x.x.x

"They did what?" Vanessa exploded over the phone.

Fairchild had given Nancy the rest of the day off to think things through. From the way Nancy felt she could use the rest of the week. Nancy had headed home with her head full of questions and a stomach turning with sugar dosed coffee. Too tired and too confused to think straight she had called Vanessa and Ned, knowing she had to at least tell _someone_ what had happened.

Nancy put her hand to her head and groaned. "I know. It just doesn't make any sense. In the past I've done everything I could to get transferred, why now?"

"But isn't this what you've always wanted? To work in the field?" Ned inserted. He and Vanessa were sharing the same phone so they had the cell on speaker. In the background Nancy could hear the radio and Kelly singing along as best as a three year old can.

For a long moment Nancy found herself lost in that cheerful noise, and then with a sigh she answered, "I just can't shake the feeling that the timing is more than a little strange."

"There's no such thing as a coincidence," Vanessa stated with conviction.

Nancy faintly smiled, remembering how Frank had often said those words. In a spur of carelessness, she asked them, "Vanessa, do you know if Frank ever had any contact with an antiterrorist group called the Network?"

"Of course he did. Both Frank and Joe did."

Nancy blinked in surprise. "What?"

But Vanessa's voice came back baffled and even a tad exasperated, "Back in high school they ran into those Network guys all the time on cases. They even had someone who they worked with from time to time. Dark Man, or something like that. I thought you knew that?"

"No, I didn't." Nancy frowned into the phone as her mind tried to mentally resort all the clues she'd gathered thus far.

"Do you think the Network has something to do with all this?" Vanessa immediately demanded.

"I don't know," Nancy automatically replied. All this new revelation did was confirm that the Hardy's had worked with the Network, but like Isaac had previously stated, the Network were some of the good guys. Everything about Frank's secret messages implied a conspiracy. But that didn't mean the intended receiver of those messages wasn't someone from the Network. "Do you know if Joe might still have any contact with this Dark Man?"

"I don't know, you should ask _him_," and Vanessa was rather adamant about that part.

Rubbing at her forehead to try and release some of the tension clouding her mind, Nancy sighed, "I can't tell him. I just can't." I tried, she silently added to herself. It was too much, especially with how tired she was. Her head hurt from not knowing the truth, and her chest hurt from not being able to confess it to the one person she needed most. "Look, this helps a lot, guys. I'm going to go. I'll catch up with you later."

Then Ned suddenly interrupted before she could hang up, "What about your new job offer?"

With a jolt Nancy realized that was already the farthest thing from her mind. Wasn't that why she had called them in the first place?

"Are you going to take it?"

"I don't know," she honestly told him.

Then Vanessa boldly told her, "I don't think you should."

But before Nancy could respond Ned kindly argued with his wife, "You're just saying that because you're worried about Joe and want to know someone's still there."

"So what if I am?" Vanessa heatedly returned. "This whole situation is…I don't know, _hinky!_ What if that red-headed bastard Fuller comes back? We don't even know why he was framing Joe in the first place!"

Nancy felt a jolt race through her, one that raised every hair on the back of her neck and made her chest burn with alarm. Then the sudden realization of what Vanessa had just said hit her like a slap in the face and she mentally stumbled. "Wait. What?"

"I know it's silly of me. Joe's a grown man, a police officer even, but what those FBI guys did…and they didn't even have probably cause!"

"No, I mean…Fuller," Nancy struggled to get out. Her mind was tripping over itself as several things started coming together in an almost fearful way. "You said he has red hair? Did he seem young, fair completion, lots of freckles, Irish maybe?"

"Yeah, that's him. Have you met him before?"

Grimly, Nancy nodded even though they couldn't see her. "Yeah." And suddenly Nancy knew with certainty the one thing Vanessa had been trying to tell her all along. "You were right, what happened to Joe and my search for Frank _is_ connected." Nancy didn't know how yet, but she finally knew where she had to go to find out. "I've got to go."

Without giving them a chance to answer, Nancy hung up and grabbing her keys headed for the door. It was amazing how clear her mind was now, although she was sure it was just an illusion, but she had a goal in sight, and her determination to find Frank would take her anywhere it lead.

There was just one stop she had to make before she confronted the man her instincts told her had all the answers.

She was on her third round of pounding on the door when Isaac finally answered, more than a little surprised to see her there. "Nancy, what's wrong?"

"I need your help," she immediately stated, pushing her way past him and into his house. It was much as you'd expect from a geeky bachelor. Sparsely decorated and just as she had hoped, full of the latest technology.

"Um, okay," Isaac replied with a frown, and then suddenly questioned, "Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"Fairchild gave me the day off." And then Nancy told him about everything. The meeting with Fairchild and Locke and the surprise offer to send her to The Farm for further training and how she believed Locke was really Fuller. And then she told him everything that had happened to Joe and what Joe had said about Fuller posing to the Judge as Secret Service, and how they seemed to be searching for something and how she thought it was something Frank had left behind.

"So in the end," Isaac said taking in all this information far better than Nancy had, "you think this Locke or Fuller, or whoever he really is, knows where your friend Frank Hardy is."

"Honestly," Nancy confessed, "I think whatever agency this guy really belongs to is the one holding Frank. I intend to force him to take me to Frank, but I don't want to confront the man blind. I need to know who he really is first."

Isaac was quiet for several seconds, which to Nancy felt more like long drawn out minutes as she waited with baited breath. Then the man sighed, and huffing out a smile, queried, "Is this what it's like to have some of those 'mystery vibes' Tracy was talking about?"

"Will you help me?"

His smile turned into a grin. "Didn't I already tell you I can't say no to a beautiful woman?"

Relief flooded through Nancy and she told him with real sincerity, "Thank you."

"What are friends for?"

He led her into the back of the house to a room crammed so completely full of computers it barely had room for the chair in the middle, but Nancy knew this was Isaac's true natural element. She didn't even bother trying to understand what he was doing, but leaned over his shoulder in anxious anticipation anyway.

"This might take a while. You could crash on my couch if you want?" He suggested after about five minutes.

It was tempting, but she didn't think she could sleep even if she wanted to. "No, I'm fine."

She felt him sigh and almost grinned, knowing he was politely asking her not to lean over him so much. She backed off, but not far, and after about fifty minutes of pacing the small room she was ready to finally give the couch a try when he suddenly whistled.

"What, what is it?"

Isaac hesitated, but Nancy knew he must have found out something because Locke's face was staring at her from six different screens, all of which belonged to a different file. Finally, he told her, "Your man here is a real ghost in the machine."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, he has a different record in almost every major government agency out there. I've even found him listed as a Major in the Air Force. Plus, these aren't just aliases. They way they're flagged, they'd pass as legit identifications under the tightest scrutiny."

"But what group does he really work for?"

"I don't know. No one. Everyone?" A small alarm suddenly went off and several of the screens changed. A couple listed screens of coding that scrolled faster than Nancy could read while another displayed a map of satellites if she was looking at it right. Several were blinking red.

Isaac swore, his fingers typing furiously at a couple of keyboards. "I'm being tracked."

"By who?" Perhaps it would tell them who was really pulling the strings.

But Isaac hoarsely laughed, tightly replying, "NSA, Network, MI6, Hell even our own guys are on this. I was hoping I got around them, but some of the flags on those files are setting off some rather high alarms."

"Just pull back, I don't want to get you into trouble," Nancy told him, her eyes automatically searching for the plugs as if shutting the power off was all it would take.

"It's not as easy as that," Isaac stated as if reading her thoughts. "Hold on."

It was a tense couple of minutes that followed, but she knew Isaac must have successfully stopped the traces when leaned back in his chair with a sigh of relief. The very next moment Nancy's cell phone rang.

The noise made both of them jump, and Isaac immediately put out his hand to stop her. "Nancy, are you sure finding your friend is worth all this?"

But there wasn't any doubt in her mind. "Frank would do it for me."

Her display blocked the number calling in, but there was no doubt in her mind about who it would be. "Hello?"

"I see you've been getting to know me, Miss Drew," Locke's voice stated drolly over the line. And then, in a dangerous voice he told her, "I'm only going to tell you this once, take our offer and leave the things you don't understand alone."

But she couldn't do that. Her job didn't matter anymore. She had to know the truth. She took a deep breath and then boldly stated, "I know that Frank Hardy is alive. And I know you have him in your custody. I want to see him."

There was silence on the other end of the phone, and then he simply replied, "Very well. Go outside, there is a vehicle waiting to pick you up."

"I'm not at h-"

He cut her off, stating coldly, "We are well aware of where you are, Miss Drew."

Chills of warning ran up her spine, but it was too late now, she was committed. She snapped her phone closed and headed for the door. Isaac was quick to stop her. "Nancy, don't go."

"I have to." She smiled at him, grateful for his concern. "Thanks for your help."

"You realize if you go you might not come back. What if you disappear just like your friend did?" And then he said what her mind was constantly trying to deny, "What if he wasn't the great guy you remember him being?"

"Isaac. I have to know."

He held her a minute longer, and then in a sudden hug, told her, "Just make sure you find a way home, Drew."

She didn't know what to say after that, so she returned the hug and once again headed for the door. She could feel him dogging her every step, but her eyes were only for the black SUV with government plates, waiting for her, just as Locke said it would be.

The red haired man himself was in the back with two other suits in the front. He smiled briefly as she got in, as if he found something funny. She wanted to demand he tell her everything but she didn't dare. Instead, she asked, "Where's Frank?"

He ignored her question, indicating to the driver to start the car. Then, as they got on the freeway, he pulled out a file from a case at his feet and handed it to her.

She took it gingerly. "What is this?"

"This is the _real_ Frank Hardy," he replied, smiling again with droll humor.

Nancy knew she was tired, but it still surprised her that her fingers actually shook as she opened the folder. Unlike the police file with its crime photos on top, this file had mug shots of Frank. At the top of the file was marked Property of the Department of Defense, and a clearly labeled top secret clearance code.

One she didn't have. One she doubted many people had, even in the government.

Suddenly, Nancy wondered if she had the courage to go through with this. She had wanted to know the truth, but in the back of her mind she had always thought it had all been a mistake. Frank wasn't a criminal.

And yet, here it was. Proof to the contrary.

Unbidden, her eyes swept the expanse of the page and then the next, taking in one horror after another.

According to the United States of America, Frank Hardy was a convicted terrorist.

Included in the file were reports on a terrorist group by the name of Chrysalis and Frank's involvement with them dating back two and a half years. According to the file, Frank had developed several encryption programs for the group and even had a direct hand in a direct attack on the NSA computer systems.

Nancy's mind wanted to believe it was all a lie, a cover up, but then she turned the page and found a written and signed confession in Frank's handwriting. Following that were transcripts of conversations between Frank and a United States Navy Captain by the name of Charles Kolman currently assigned within the Defense Intelligence Agency. Frank had confessed to working with Chrysalis and in exchange for giving up information on the group made a deal with the government to save his family the shame of knowing what he had done by faking his death.

The last page of the file was a report on the current situation with Chrysalis. While the organization had been arrested, several factions were still unaccounted for. Special mention was made about a project titled Glass Box.

The words rang in her head and she frowned down at the page. Something was off. According to this report Frank was believed to have spearheaded the Glass Box project. A project they had little information on but speculated was a revolutionary decryption program.

But…according to the secret messages she had uncovered from Frank's computer the Glass Box had existed well before Frank said he'd joined Chrysalis.

"I see you've discovered our current dilemma," Locke stated, regarding her closely.

Nancy knew her face was giving her away, she was too tired to do otherwise, but she remained quiet, letting the man think what he want.

Locke waited a moment more, and then told her, "You must understand Miss Drew, finding the Glass Box is of the highest concern to national security. We will stop at nothing to protect this country." His eyes were sharp and cold and spoke volumes about just how far they were willing to go to get what they needed.

Suppressing all her fears, Nancy cleared her face and demanded, "Then take me to Frank."

"As you wish." Locke leaned over and stabbed a needle into her arm.

Days of emotional exhaustion had taken its toll on Nancy. If she had been even a bit more alert she would have noticed the needle long before he stuck her, at the very least she could have defended herself. But other than a small jerk in surprise, she didn't react at all. The drug passed quickly through her veins. Nancy felt herself inhale sharply, and then the blackness encroached on her vision until all at once everything went numb.

When she awoke, Nancy felt disoriented. Her body moved stiffly, and her senses seemed to have problems gaining her bearings. This wasn't the first time she'd been drugged, but it had been a while and Nancy lurched upright in shock, and then nearly doubled over as nausea washed through her.

"Just take it easy ma'am," a young voice advised.

Nancy took several slow breaths, and then blinking rapidly to clear both her head and her vision, she looked up. She was on a couch in a small room that had a vending machine in one corner and a small table in the other.

At the door to the little room was an armed soldier in grey BDU's. He couldn't be more than twenty.

"Where am I?" Nancy questioned, surprised to find her throat dry.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not authorized to tell you that," the soldier told her. And then he stepped over to the table and grabbed a bottle of water, handing it to her.

She smiled faintly, taking it. A few sips of the clear liquid did much to regain her senses. The nausea passed and her head cleared. The drugs must have knocked her out for several hours because she felt more awake than she had in days. Not to mention she was starving. She was about to ask her armed guard if he had any change when Locke suddenly appeared at the door. Any thought of food instantly vanished.

"Good, you're awake. Follow me."

Nancy did, noting absently as the soldier tossed her empty bottle before taking up position behind them as escort. He wasn't the only armed guard at this facility, and it was a facility, that much she could tell by the stark halls that had no paint past the base coat of primer. They never passed even one window.

Then they took an elevator down about five levels and the halls were no longer made of drywall but rather cement. Chances were good they were underground now.

Before long they were passing through security checks much like those at the prisons. On the other side was a long hallway with several locked doors that needed both biometrics and a key card to open. Locke unlocked the last door at the end. He held the door open and motioned her through.

Nancy took a breath to calm her nerves. This was what she had come for. To finally know for sure. She stepped into the brightly lit room, not at all surprised when the door shut and locked behind her.

She was sure people would be watching, but this reunion would be hers alone. The room was divided in two by bars, the other side much like any prison cell might be with perhaps a bit more room. On the bed sat the man she had seen in Leavenworth. His dark brown hair fell just above his shoulders, strands falling unconcernedly in front of a face too young and too old. But even amidst the unshaved features and shaggy appearance she knew it was him.

Brown eyes full of surprise looked up at her. Eyes she would know anywhere.

"Frank."


	26. Book 1 Bit 26

The bit you've all been waiting for…

x.x.x.x.x

When he heard the door open he assumed it was Earc. Had been dreading the moment the man returned. He had one weakness, and he'd done everything he could to convince these people it didn't exist. In prison he'd imagined he'd succeeded. That in the end, he would be impossible to break.

But when he looked up and realized the person who came in wasn't the red head he was excepting, he knew he had failed.

"Frank." Her voice was but a whisper, but in the silence of the room it was as clear as a bell. A bell that rang with life, and foretold his doom.

She looked older than he remembered. Tired, more jaded, but the intensity was still there, bleeding from every pore as she reached the bars separating them. Her eyes searched his, her face awash with a mixture of emotions.

He almost dared not to breath least it was just an illusion and the illusion would burst. Slowly, cautiously, he approached. She reached a hand out and he took it in his, their fingers entwining. Her touch was like the spark of life, bringing to the surface all the emotions he'd so carefully locked away.

Swallowing past the growing lump in his throat he finally dared to ask, "Nancy, what are you doing here?"

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. Then, her other hand reached through the bars to touch his face, as if to confirm that he was real. He leaned into the touch, needing to know just as badly as she did. It had been so long since he'd last been able to actually _touch_ someone he'd forgotten how good human contact felt.

And then she told him, "I had to see you. I had to know the truth."

_The truth_. Her words ran bitterly through his mind, mocking him. He couldn't tell her the truth. "You shouldn't be here. You should leave. Forget you ever saw me." He grabbed her hand, not wanting to let go, but forcing himself to push her away.

Only, she wouldn't let him. "No, Frank. I'm here now. You can trust me. Tell me what's going on."

But that was impossible. He looked up to the cameras in the corner of the ceiling. He knew a fair bit about technology, a fair more than even these people gave him credit for. They were being watched and monitored every way possible. There would be no secrets in this room. If they were good, than they had already discovered his weakness.

He looked at the woman that represented everything about his past. If they were _really_ good, than it was already too late for him. He was doomed no matter what he did. All he could do was ensure it stopped with him.

Emotional pain stronger than any torture he'd ever been through laced through him as he forced himself to take a step back. Quietly, he asked her, "Did they tell you what I did?"

"They told me," Nancy replied, gripping the bars as if they were the only things holding her up. "But I don't believe it."

Then he spoke the two words he knew would condemn him, "It's true." It was more than just the words. It was everything about him professing the truth of those words. More than the conditioning, he fully believed what he was saying.

"Just because you helped some terrorists doesn't make you one of them," Nancy immediately protested, her voice practically pleading with him as she pressed against the bars, beseeching him to come back to her. "They could have tricked you. I bet you didn't even know what you were getting into until it was too late. And you turned them in, Frank. You did the right thing!"

"No," he shook his head. The pain in his chest growing so strong he could hear his heart beating like a drum inside his ears. "You don't understand."

"Then _help me_ understand." Her hand placatingly reached out again, palm up.

He stared at her, silently begging her to stop, but her pleading was even stronger. He took a step forward and suddenly found himself within her embrace. Their foreheads touched through the bars, her breath warm on his face.

"I know you Frank. I know you wouldn't do anything without good reason. You're still a good person," she whispered, but her words only ripped at his heart.

His vision blurred over and it took him a moment to realize he was crying. He hugged her tightly, breathing in the soft scent of her hair. This felt so real. He didn't want to let it go. When he didn't think he could take it any longer, he leaned back, intending to pull away from her, but she wouldn't let go.

Blinking away the tears, he looked into her eyes, conveying as much sympathy and regret as he could tolerate. "I'm sorry Nancy, but you're wrong."

Her fingers pressed into his arms as emotions played across her face. Everything from disbelief to grief to betrayal. "Are you telling me you _willingly_ and _knowingly_ helped a group of terrorists hack into the NSA?"

"Yes. I did."

Her voice tightened as much as her grip did. "Why?"

It was a question he had a hard time answering. The conditioned response came out automatically, "I wanted-" but he stopped himself. This was Nancy, not some bureaucrat. He owed her the truth, at least as far as he could go. Digging his grave just a little deeper, he told her, "I used Chrysalis to help me get into the NSA systems so I could cover my tracks."

She stared at him. He could feel her shaking from the shock of his confession. And then, "Tracks of what? What did you do?"

The tears threatened to return, and he knew his face clearly reflected his shame. "I can't tell you."

Her grip tightened but then suddenly she let go and they both stepped away from each other. The grief of betrayal filled her eyes, cutting him to the core. "Does this have something to do with the Glass Box?"

He merely nodded, and confusion lined her face. "What is it?"

"I can't tell you."

"But you made it, didn't you?" Again he nodded, and then, "Before you joined Chrysalis." It wasn't a guess. She said it with the conviction of someone who _knew_.

Fear rushed through him. This was _Nancy_, and while he thought he had left no trace behind of his crime, he knew if there was someone who would find out it was her. "No," he immediately denied, but he already knew it was too late. They would know he was lying.

Furious with himself, he reached for her through the bars, but she stepped ever further away. "Frank, tell me you're not a terrorist," she openly pleaded, her hands tightening into fists. "Because if you are, if you've done something to betray this country, than I'm obligated to help them stop you…whatever it takes." Her last words were barely a whisper, as if she herself couldn't believe what she was saying.

He let his hand drop. There was no way he could deny it. For all their sakes he had to take the chance that whatever she had found out wouldn't be enough.

With a sigh, Frank Hardy stepped back, standing as alone as he really was as he clearly confessed, "I _am_ an enemy of the state."

x.x.x.x.x

This ends Book One.

But never fear, Book Two is right around the corner. As we move further into this conspiracy, Book Two focuses mostly on Frank, answers several questions, poses even more, and introduces you to the players behind it all. Trust me, the playing field is far bigger than you ever imagined. Is the Frank Hardy we all know and love _really_ evil? Will Nancy pick the right side to be on? And as things get more complicated, is Joe going to end up trapped in the middle? Keep reading and find out!

Now, I thought about making Book Two a separate story entry to cut down on just how many bits you have to scroll through, but I've decided this is where all my readers go to find this story, and honestly, the three books are all one story. So, unless ya tell me otherwise, Enemy of the State Book Two will be continuing _right here_.

See you in the New Year…or quite possibly sooner. ;)


End file.
